


Grey Snow

by Eudaimonias_Revenge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Draco Is A Gentleman, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hermione Loves Music, Lemons, New Year's Eve, Pining, Smut, Snow, dramione - Freeform, dramione smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 36,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudaimonias_Revenge/pseuds/Eudaimonias_Revenge
Summary: Hermione is the only student left at Hogwarts for Christmas break. Her welcomed days of solitude, however, are seemingly ruined when Draco arrives just days before the New Year.Rated M for later chapters.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 99
Kudos: 561





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwasbotwp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasbotwp/gifts).



> I do not own, nor am I affiliated with, the Harry Potter universe in any way.

It was a fortress of solitude, the old castle. Every living soul but one had left some days past, save for her. Though, she did wonder, from time to time, what was left of her "soul”. Was it enough to be considered a soul; was she enough to be considered human anymore?

She thought not, even if everyone else would disagree. To her, nearly all of life had turned into a mucky grey. Like polluted snowfall; quiet… disgusting… saddening to witness. Save for loved ones, what had once meant everything to her now meant nil. 

If anything, she hadn't expected this to be the outcome after years of hope and fighting.

A small, cold, mittenless hand reached out from the alcove and into the light snow that would very soon become a heavy comforter of flakes that would turn all of the world visible to her eyes as white and pure as she'd been when she'd first entered the halls of the ancient school. And, oh, how she missed those days. All of it. Every minute. Of all the good times, and bad times, and everything in between. When she was that girl with drive and stubborn Gryffindor courage. 

A puffy cloud of a sigh left her lips as she looked down at the courtyard, mesmerized by the ghosts of she and her old schoolmates walking and sitting about on warm days; laughing and dreaming. It seemed so long ago, and she supposed, what with only being eighteen, three years was quite a few in the general scheme of things.

One, two steps back took her from the edge of the archway, and then she turned swiftly to take down the grand staircase to the enormous double doors that led to the courtyard. She stepped in the shallow snow in her burgundy boots, their soles, at least, seeming thick enough for the journeys ahead. Not that the journey to Hogsmeade was that long of a walk. 

If she was any less familiar with her surroundings, she may not have been able to make her way through the storm, which grew heavier with each step, and all without moon or wand light. She had her wand, no doubt, but it wasn't necessary. There was only snow and cold, and the witch found these companion enough as she walked to the small town, reaching its border shortly after leaving Hogwarts' sound walls.

It was ten past six, according to her mother's old watch, and that meant that Puddifoot's was open. 

The truth of it was that the elves could have accommodated her every culinary wish had she asked, but she found there to be no need to ask them to get the kitchens going for her alone. Besides, she'd recently become a fan of the Madam's latest seasonal menu item- eggnog creme brulee- and it had been worth the walk the night before, as well as Christmas Eve. Tonight would be no different. 

Besides, she needed each and every excuse to leave the school in the blizzarding background and clear her head. She should have left for the break, but being alone had seemed so much more enticing than sleeping on the couch of her parents' tiny flat, the one they'd established upon returning from Australia with their memories newly intact. She really should have been with them, but she didn't want to pretend. Not around them. They'd know that she was this empty shell of Hermione's past self, and she wouldn't be able to explain to them why she felt the way she did now… 

Or didn't feel… since the war ended and everything changed.

She strolled past the tracks, past the Broomsticks, which was oddly lively on this, a Tuesday night. She passed the dark windows of Zonkos and Gladrags, and turned past Skrivenshaft's on the corner, walking the last few yards up the cobbles to the glowing yellow lights of Puddifoot's. 

For a moment, just a moment, Hermione Granger felt… happy. She wasn't the biggest fan of pink and frills, but she was happy to be in the warm and welcoming restaurant, her stomach set on a meal that didn't rely solely on elf-labor. This, only for the witch to pull back the hood of her cloak and allow her eyes to rest on the only other customer in the restaurant.

At the bar, with his back to her, sat Draco Malfoy. She assumed it was him, considering he was one of the two platinum blondes she knew, and considering the elder was now serving fifteen years (before being considered for parole) in the new prison built specifically for Death Eaters, there was only one possible option.

The sight of the younger Malfoy froze her boots in their spot, the witch moving her shoulder out of the way as the door tried to close on her frigid form. 

She didn't know why she stood and stared at the back of his head, but she did, only to be interrupted by the Madam herself stepped out of the kitchens beyond the bar. In one hand she held a large bowl of what Hermione supposed was soup, and in the other her wand levitated a tray with tea service. Her face grew a large grin as she noticed Hermione standing by the door. 

"Back again so soon, Miss Granger?" The Madam asked in her thick Scottish accent. Hermione's eyes flickered to Draco, and she noticed the long lines of his back went rigid at the sound of her name. Puddifoot moved to place the fare in her hands on the bar before Draco, who kept face front, but added for the newly arrived witch, "Would yeh like your usual seat, and a spot of tea? And could I interest you in a bowl of my butternut squash soup? Just made it a few hours ago."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day.

"Uh…" Hermione began as she tried to overcome her surprise while simultaneously weighing her options. It took a few seconds of her standing with her mouth hanging open before she decided on, "Yes. And yes. Soup sounds more than lovely."

Puddifoot smiled even brighter, saying, "I suppose I would sound that way if I had walked here from the school. Yeh did walk again, did yeh not?"

"I did," was Hermione's reply as she removed her cloak and made her way to the table she favorited in a corner, all the while deciding that focusing on Draco Malfoy in any way would be a bad call on her part. "It clears my head."

"As yeh mentioned yesterday, lass. Yeh a brave one, indeed. Bloody awful out there..." Puddifoot mused aloud as she walked back into the kitchen.

Not even a minute passed wherein Madame Puddifoot stood in the kitchen ladling soup into a large bowl. In this time, the two patrons in the front were forced to sit together in a raw silence; as aware and heavy and quiet as the snow falling on the world outside. Draco didn't so much as lift a utensil to eat. He merely sat at the bar, face downcast, and Hermione simply sat in her chair, her eyes avoiding him at all costs as she sat with a perfect vantage point to appreciate his profile.

She did no such thing, obviously, as she busied herself with checking her grey jumper and black trousers. She reminded herself that she hadn't come here to focus on nonsense as Draco Malfoy. The aim of her visit was fresh food, to support local business rather than local slavery. She'd wanted to have a warm meal before trekking back to the school in the freezing cold.

Hermione did not, not ever, want to share a most uncomfortable silence with Draco Malfoy while they sat as the only two people in an eatery small enough to hear the other breathing. But, as luck would have it, that was exactly what was going to happen.

Madame Puddifoot brought Hermione her soup with the promise of returning with some earl grey and cream, as the younger witch usually ordered her tea. Hermione almost forgot to ask for her creme brulee, but thankfully she remembered, while also having the foresight to ask if she could get it wrapped up so she could take it with her back to the school. She didn't want to spend any extra time at Puddifoot's while Draco was there.

And not just for obvious reasons…

She knew he'd see it.

See her.

He'd recognise that she was not what she once was, because, at his trial, she could tell that he himself was no longer his old self. He was some Draco-esque shell, no longer the extroverted arse hat of days gone by. He'd hardly lifted his head at his trial in mid-September, the one Hermione had had to leave school to attend. He'd only done so once or twice since she entered the restaurant, and only because he'd been addressed by the Madame. During these instances, he didn't speak, but simply nodded or shook his head at the elder witch in reply.

At some point, Draco had begun eating his soup, and Hermione had done the same. Madame Puddifoot had ensured the happiness of her two patrons- delivering and filling tea cups and water glasses- and once deciding all was well with them (as far as food and drinks go) she moved to the back and continued her evening duties of prepping and cleaning for closing time.

When her soup was almost finished, which didn't take too long, Hermione's creme brulee floated from the back, neatly enclosed in a brown paper take-out box, secured with a deep purple bow. A minute later, Puddifoot came out to personally hand Hermione the bill.

"If you need to stay longer and warm your bones, yeh should! It's only gotten worse out there since yeh arrived," Puddifoot said as she flicked her wand and sent Hermione's bowl back to the kitchen, all while the younger witch fished for tender in the pocket of her cloak.

The war heroine smiled lightly up at the concerned old witch, but shook her head none-the-less. "Thank you, but that seems like all the more reason to head back."

This answer hardly pacified Puddifoot, because she then responded, and in a tone that was more serious than the last. "At least stop by the stables and get a carriage back. The temperature has dropped nearly two degrees in the past half hour."

Hermione considered this information, and said, "If I leave now I'll be fine. Walking is good for me at the moment."

She couldn't help it. At the thought of what haunted her day and night, what caused her to face treacherous weather for the sake of good walk, she had to glance at Draco. She noted he had kept his back to her.

Hermione then looked back to Puddifoot, the old woman looking over her shoulder at her only other patron, then back to Hermione with curiosity in her eyes. But before she could ask anything, Hermione threw her cloak over her shoulders, grabbed up her packaged dessert, and made for the door.

"Thank you, again, Madame Puddifoot," Hermione said as she walked around the old woman, but thought to pause at the door and add, "I'll be back for more of that amazing soup very soon. It was really, very good."

Puddifoot smiled gratefully, and gave a curt nod, but Hermione could see that there was still a tinge of worry in her eyes.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind her, and as she made her first steps back down the cobbles, her inquisitive gaze went through the store-front and landed on Draco one more time. Instead of finding his back, she met the dark grey of his eyes, but only for a second before she carried on.


	3. Chapter 3

Once she was out of the view of the restaurant, Hermione allowed herself to think about the newly appointed head of the Malfoy family. She wondered what he was doing in Hogsmeade; why he was eating at Puddifoot's instead of some extravagant 5-star eatery; why he hadn't taken the chance to say something to her. Anything at all. Something snide, or even a "Happy Holidays".

She supposed he may have been asking himself some very similar questions about her. Puddifoot had announced Hermione's walk from the school. Why hadn't she just stayed put and eaten in the Great Hall? The studious witch had also failed to give the blonde man any salutations; not a snide remark or a season's greeting from her to him, either.

Draco Malfoy really had no reason to be in Hogsmeade so late in the evening, in Hermione's opinion. The shops were all closed, save The Broomsticks and Puddifoot's. Pubs were everywhere in England, possibly even in Wiltshire. She guessed Malfoy Manor had its own bar in at least one of the many rooms.

So why was he there?

She thought on these things, and many more, as she walked back towards the school; past the shops and the pub, past the thestral livery and the tracks, and truly began her journey back to the school. The storm blew the beautiful snowflakes straight into her face. Even her hair, which she'd left in its usual mane of curls, couldn't block the windy ice as large flakes blew into her hood, past her hair and down the back of her neck.

For a moment, she thought of returning to the stables and requesting a carriage, but she was stubborn, and recently in the habit of not caring too much about herself. She knew that, if push came to shove, she could use a warming charm on herself and make it back to the school without issue.

So she trudged on.

'I wonder why he was there?' her mind speculated, some meters past the tracks. The witch wasn't too keen on the idea of her mind going back to him repeatedly, but she couldn't help it. 'Why Hogsmeade? He could be literally anywhere. This place,' she thought selfishly, 'is better off without him. He's the reason Hogwarts and Hogsmede were almost ruined.'

Hermione shook her head.

She hated how back and forth she was when it came to Draco.

When she sat before the Wizengamot to give her account of the events of the war, she could admit with pride that she told the truth, unlike the damn Death Eaters. Every bit of the truth has left her mouth every time she appeared in court.

However, when it came down to it, she'd admitted aloud that she did not think Draco entirely responsible for his actions. She'd been forced to admit to herself that Draco was a Slytherin, and he was motivated by self-preservation. She was a Gryffindor, which usually meant she put herself in harm's way quite often, without even thinking of the consequences. They were different people, but she had to admit that she may not have done anything different if she and her family had been the ones to be Voldemort's "willing hosts".

When her tale was up, something she'd told many different people over the months since the war ended, she had, in some roundabout way, told the gamot that she did not blame Draco.

The Malfoy heir had not lifted his head to look at her the entire time until she finished, and he'd glanced at her with a number of different emotions showing in his eyes: confusion, surprise, gratitude. But the look didn't last long before he cast his face down to his shoes, hiding all further expressions behind lengthened, shaggy blonde hair.

Even though she didn't think he'd deserved prison sentences, like his parents had received, she also didn't think he should be allowed to leave his house for a while. But she wasn't the Wizengamot, and in the end they had only charged the heir a large amount in fines (which she suspected didn't dent his family's coffers), and didn't award a single day of house arrest.

She still assumed that, since she hadn't heard anything of it from friends or the papers, Draco hadn't left his quiet mansion since he'd been released. He'd put himself on house arrest, and she wished that he'd stayed there instead of leaving his mansion to haunt her haunts.

Hermione was haunted enough. She didn't need a reminder of a certain pale, platinum ghost.

The witch raised her head towards the location she knew the school sat, but saw not a single sign of life or light. It was a whiteout. She could see a meter ahead, that was all, and this of all things was what took her mind from Draco, setting it it back onto the track it had been on before she'd entered Puddifoot's, back to the darkened, dingy snowfall that was her mind.

In her mind she imagined becoming lost in the storm, forced to using the warming charm to survive until morning. The thought of it brought her back to the days of the Christmas past, and how she and Harry had been in survival mode, and how the concept consumed their thoughts every day, all day. Survival, as well as saving their loved ones, the rest of the world, and, ultimately, ending Voldemort's reign.

But for the better part of a minute, the war heroine imagined herself truly surviving again- instead of just within her mind- and a large part of her wanted to exist in that state once more. Definitely not in a war setting, but perhaps, when school was over, she could take a break from her plan for a year or two, and live out in the woods. Perhaps become some Muggle stereotype and scare the children who happened upon her cottage while she lived off the land; surviving on only what she could grow and raise, and take some time to herself.

It sounded nice… And she lived in this fantasy for a while longer until she heard the dulled clop of hooves coming up from behind her, accompanied by the sound of carriage wheels that were all but drowned by the wild gales.

A/N: There may be a fourth chapter up tonight. Happy New Year!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all of you who bookmarked this story and left kudos. I'd also like to wish you all a happy New Year!

With brows drawn close in confusion, Hermione turned to look at a thestral-drawn carriage as it emerged from the snow into full view and came to a stop beside her. If she hadn't been so surprised, she would have given herself a pat on the back at how precise her sense of direction was to have remained on the road in a whiteout.

But alas, she let herself stare at the door of the carriage until it was opened, and as the candlelight fell out onto the snow-coated witch, her jaw dropped. Draco was the carriages only occupant, holding the door open for her with one black-gloved hand, looking down at her with a furrow to his dark brows and what she concluded could only be concern in his eyes. 

For a moment, neither said a thing. It wasn't a long span of time, but Hermione would later realize the two spent the better half of a minute staring at one another; taking in the other's features as each one studied the others face, quite the contrast to their earlier encounter.

In the end, it was he who spoke first, loudly over the wind, "Allow me to offer you a ride to the school, Granger."

She was not sure when she had started being at such a loss for words around him. Many seconds of silence that passed where the snow began to build inside the carriage door, and up around her legs. 

He must have assumed she needed help with speaking, as well as a great many other things, because he asked, “Do I need to take you to the infirmary?”

Hermione blinked at him, shook her head lightly, and drew a deep, cold breath before answering, “No. I do not need a ride. Nor do I need the infirmary.”

She turned and continued walking, and she listened as Draco yelled after her through the gusting winds, “Suit yourself, then.” She heard the carriage door close, and watched, as best she could, as the carriage continued to bob down the snowy trail towards the school.

Confusion had become her best friend that evening, because she hadn’t the slightest as to why Draco Malfoy had been at Puddifoot’s, nor did she understand why he’d grab a carriage if not with the sole intention to come after her, because why on earth would he still be on his way to the school and not turning back to Hogsmeade instead?

He had no business being at the school he’d seen to putting in harm’s way, and she huffed as she thought how he, of all people, had stopped to offer her a ride. She hadn’t expected anyone to be on the road, no doubt, but she hadn’t expected the person in the carriage to be him, or for him to attempt chivalry by offering to share the ride. 

She wouldn't deny that some semblance of joy hit her as the carriage passed her by, traveling in the opposite direction, a few minutes later. Draco obviously turned around and left without bothering her further. But this was all short lived as she finished her walk to the castle and found the blonde bother standing at the grand entrance, at the top of the stairs, talking to Filch.

Not only had confusion been a long lost friend found that evening, but surprise was beginning to catch up. Filch had not been at the school for days - save the house elves, Hermione had been the only living inhabitant- but here the old squib was. He and Draco were having a conversation that seemed quite mild, which they only paused as the witch came to stand at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at them frowning and expectant.

“Well there she is,” Filch said in his gruff tone. “She’s the only other one ‘ere. McGonagall asked me to be ‘ere and greet yeh, Malfoy. I’m not sure why. Yeh know yer way around by now, eh? I also know that yeh know the rules.” The elder man paused just long enough to give the younger a pointed look. “And, if yeh’ve forgotten, I’m sure Granger here will be more than happy teh remind yeh.”

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but it sounded like Draco was there to stay, and the absent McGonagall had known without giving the younger Gryffindor a warning. The witch had to wonder if it was because her Headmistress thought she’d be unable to handle it, or that she thought she wouldn't really care.

Hermione had to admit that she could understand either motivation.

As mentioned earlier, Hermione hadn’t been herself lately. The girl from her past would have been upset at the news. This recent version of herself, the one that isolated from housemates and no longer raised her hand in class to answer every question, could very well not give a damn about the young Malfoy. 

Draco looked down to Hermione, who returned his gaze, and Filch easily dodged the odd exchange as he said, “I’m off to enjoy the rest of me vacation in peace. Don’t burn the place down.”

With that, Filch moved from the entrance to the great hall, where Hermione assumed he’d used the floo. She looked after the old man until he was out of sight, then turned back to Draco, who lifted a brow at her as he said, “McGonagall and Kingsley are allowing me to finish my final year of school this next term.”

Hermione felt her face turn from a frown to a full-blown glare, and replied, “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here so early, before term starts.” The witch walked up the stairs and moved past him, brushing off snow as she went, entirely intent on making her way back to Gryffindor tower without saying another word to her old/new schoolmate. 

“I’ve got studying to do,” he said to her retreating back. “Surely that’s something you can relate to.”

She did not so much as pause to acknowledge his words. She kept walking, up the stairs, around the corner, and out of sight, glare still set in her features.


	5. Chapter 5

After leaving Draco at the grand entrance, Hermione made for Gryffindor tower to get ready for bed, grumbling in annoyance the whole trip up the moving staircases, and even until she'd stripped, redressed in her night clothes, and lay in bed… Only to have sleep elude her for many hours.

All of this was due to a couple of Draco-related reasons. One was more obvious: He had come back to finish his schooling for the entire term?! Hermione was beside herself with woe. She had not been expecting that. For some reason or another, she’d assumed she’d seen the last of Draco Malfoy for a while once she’d left the courtroom after giving her testimony. The idea of a Malfoy family free life had been one of the few joys she had to look forward to.

The other reason- the not so obvious reason- was the way that he looked at her. 

The witch rolled over with a frustrated sigh, and tried to close her eyes to block out the memory of how he'd looked in the carriage, but it was as if her attempt to dull the literal sense strengthened the inner one, causing the image to become more vivid; so stark in her memory it was if she could reach out and touch him. She’d never noticed his eyes were as vibrant and grey as they were until they shown in the candlelight. She didn’t know they could hit her the way they had, and pause her in her tracks; how he’d managed to spend not even a minute looking at her face, and how that miniscule act could keep her up all night was beyond her.

Yes. The lack of sleep was definitely Draco’s fault. 

‘Why would he even care to do that?’ she asked herself, in regards to his long, piercing stare. Why would he look at her for so long without a scowl, and instead with the face of a human being? It was more haunting, more shocking, more powerful than every other one of his expressions. Far more so than any he’d ever cast in her direction before that moment.

She couldn’t remember a scowl that was stronger, a look of fear more intense, or a jeer that meant more, and she wondered- oh, how she wondered- why his looking at her was something that could undo her. 

It was strange, and she thought on it until the witching hour, before exhaustion had pulled her into sleep, her last thought being that she’d wished he’d been sent to Tenarcha- the new prison- with his parents. 

Even if, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t really mean it.

In the morning, she rose to the bright grey of a snow storm outside. She’d slept in late, past nine, but got up to shower and ready herself for the day either way. 

While in the shower, she wondered if she should take another walk to Hogsmeade that day, but decided she’d watch the storm and decide later, even if she was sure she’d at least walk about the grounds. Perhaps visit the Black Lake, or see the sights inside the Forbidden Forest. She wondered if the snow had penetrated the thick canopy of trees and hit the ground, or if it was just frozen hard dirt underneath evergreens.

After packing her bag with blank parchment, ink, and fresh quills, all while still wrapped in her towel, Hermione then moved to get dressed. She donned black under things, including socks, a pair of blue jeans, a burgundy turtleneck jumper and her burgundy snow boots. She then threw on her faux-fur lined cloak, tossed her bag onto her shoulder, and made her way out of the tower. Down, down, down many flights of stairs, and an empty stomach, found the wise young witch at the kitchen portrait, where she tickled the pear to be allowed entrance into the large space beyond.

The elves were long gone, but the evidence of their earlier work was left on the table near the door, as per usual. Two charmed-warm plates sat in wait, instead of just the usual one she'd become used to over the past week and a half. She knew the other had to be Draco's.

It was funny. For a moment, the witch had had the delusion she'd be able to go through the rest of her break without seeing a sign of him. But, alas…

She figured she should stop doing that, assuming she wouldn’t see him, but she still found as much comfort as possible in knowing that, since the second plate was still there, he was at least in Slytherin, and she'd luckily missed another run-in with him for the time being.

With a little groan of disappointment at being reminded of his existence, the witch grabbed one of the plates and quit the kitchens, now intent on making it to the library for a few solid hours of studying before taking her daily walk.

By the time she was halfway to the library, she opened the cover on her plate and downed two pieces of bacon and a triangle of her toast, her stomach feeling well enough thereafter for her to start humming some Bowie. She finished her toast and was working on another piece of bacon as she walked into the open double doors of the library, and made her way around the outer wall towards the section she'd had her mind's eye on since she'd awoken.

Rounding the corner to one of the long rows of shelves, she met her old friend surprise, for there he stood, her old, yet newly manifested, bane of existence. 

Draco occupied the exact same section she had set her intentions, and Hermione had to catch her plate as it almost slipped from her grasp. She also quelled an odd urge to growl at him. She all but failed miserably at that last bit as she said in a lower than usual tone, “Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

He turned to look at her as if her sudden appearance surprised him nil- which was probably the case considering everyone in the wizarding world knew Hermione’s favorite pastime- and his face held some semblance of civility as he answered easily, “I’m getting a head start on the advanced Charms course I’m taking next term.” He closed the book in his hands and leaned a shoulder against the shelf, adding, “I told you just last night that I’m here early to study.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a thank you to my followers! And Happy New Years all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chap, but only by a very small amount.

"Yes, well…" The witch began, unsure on whether or not she should turn and leave or stay. Or palm her face at the fact that they'd be sharing at least one class starting the following week. She went on, "You did mention that. But I need this section, Malfoy, and you're in it."

"This isn't your library, Granger," he answered, his face looking nothing if not amused by her statement.

She frowned and rolled her eyes, then answered with her voice still gruff, "I think we can agree that I get first dibs, considering I've been here since the beginning of the year and you just showed up last night."

He looked her up and down, noticing the obvious aggression in her stance, and shook his head with a sigh while replying, "Fine. What is it?" He looked to the book in his hand and held it out for her to read the cover. "Did you need this particular book, or something?"

She looked at the black leatherbound book, the title- "Advanced Charms for Young Wizards and Witches: Vol. 1"- embossed in silver, and frowned deeply as she said, "No. I need the one after that, though."

It took her four quick steps to close the gap between them, wherein he seemed to flinch and take a step back from her advance in fear. She hardly paid attention to these actions, though, as she reached just past his head to grab the second volume of the one he held, as well as the book beside it, and she tucked them under her arm as she moved around him to leave the aisle. 

But she stopped, turned on her heal, and said to his back, "The elves made you breakfast. It's sitting inside the kitchens near the portrait. One or two students aren't enough for them to send it to the great hall. Just in case you didn't know."

Then she left without waiting for an answer, in the direction of the very back of the library. Her usual spot, at least while she'd been alone in the castle, had been more toward the front, but if she could hide from Draco she would, and the usual spot wouldn't do.

The witch settled into a well-furnished corner, ready to study; a pastime that once was all she could think about, but now did out of habit and as a tool to drown out all other thought. The spot she chose was one of the nooks that had four chairs, each one respectfully representing a house in color, that surrounded a long coffee table on which she set her bag. She then flopped down onto the plush, high-backed Gryffindor chair. 

She resealed her plate and set it down on the table just as the hint of a smile found her lips, due to suddenly recalling the look of fear and panic that had hit Draco’s face as she’d walked toward him. The witch had lost the itch to punch the blonde since she’d watched Ron do so during the final battle, figuring that had been enough physical assault for a while, but she still found it slightly amusing to think he feared her lashing out at him.

With a shake of her head she dropped her smile, and the memory, and went on to unpack her bag and set the books in the middle of the table, humming the tune to ‘Zombie’. She used her wand to ignite the fireplace that sat a meter or two away, the flames roaring to life immediately, and she kicked off her shoes as she got comfortable to take notes on at least one of the entire books before her, if not more.

After twenty minutes, when her food was finished and she’d made a small dent in her first book, the tell-tale sound of shoes on stone reached her ears, and she sat in dread and silence as she noticed they were getting closer and closer to her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her wand, readying it in her fingers as Draco came into sight. The urge to curse him was so strong as he approached, her hand twitched as a spell sat at the tip of her tongue.

That is until she got a good look at him, her head tilted slightly to the side.

Earlier, when they’d met in the charms section, she’d been too annoyed to really look at him. But now that she had the time, she noticed how different he looked; quite different from being in the candlelight of a carriage, or in the setting of a bright pink restaurant. Or sitting with magic-suppressing irons locked on his wrists during his Wizengamot trial.

His hair, which was as platinum as ever and a bit longer than last she’d seen him, reached mid-neck, and was tucked behind his ears, the left of which was pierced and sported a small silver ring. His face was far less sallow than when he sat in wait in the courtroom, and was somehow less pale, if that were possible. She’d been under the impression he was always as white as the driven snow, but she was wrong. There was a healthy hint of color in his cheeks that morning. 

The “ex-con” was still as lank and tall as he’d always been, and he looked sort of intimidating (if Hermione didn’t know any better) while wearing slim-fitting black jeans, a black t-shirt and scarf, and a dark grey blazer with black elbow patches. His shoes, though, were Slytherin green snow boots, and said boots came to a dead stop just behind the Hufflepuff chair that sat directly on the other side of the coffee table from her own. 

The witch let her wand go, the wood resting between her right thigh and the chair, and she looked him in the eyes that had haunted her the night previous as she stifled a sigh, asking, “Can I help you?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all of you who've left kudos and reviews. It means a lot to me and my motivation.

“Are you taking advanced Charms class, then, or are you studying for fun?” he asked, leaning with crossed arms onto the back of the yellow chair, his eyes inquisitive. They also held something else that she could not place. It wasn’t fear, but it seemed similar.

“Both. Obviously," she answered tersely, closing volume two on her thumb so as not to lose her place as she fixed him with a deep frown. “Did you really come all the way over here to ask such a trivial question, Malfoy, or is this leading up to something else? An insult perhaps?”

He gave a puff of air through his nose that seemed close to laughter, and asked, “Do you really think I came over here to insult you?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” she said, annoyed. “You’ve done more for less. Like follow a tyrant for a spot in a prison cell. So I’m not so sure what you want.”

She expected him to fight back at this, or even allow his feelings to be hurt and walk away, inevitably leading to him leaving her alone for the rest of eternity, but he didn’t. Instead, he answered, “A prison cell you helped saved me from. You and Potter. Not so much Weasley, if I'm honest. Thank you for that, by the way. I’d much rather be here in your good company.”

“Is that how you planned on thanking me for helping save you from a long stint of time?” she asked, growing increasingly irritated by his presence as every second ticked by on her watch.

He looked at the floor and bit the inside of his cheek for a second before looking back up at her to say, “No. I planned on doing it in- in a more genuine way... Thank y-”

“Stop,” Hermione interjected, holding her hand palm out for emphasis. “I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t do what I did in hopes of a thank you. I couldn’t give a fuck about how you feel about what I did, because I only said what I did to make the truth known, and that is all. The fact that they let you go was never my intention, so don’t try and make nice thinking that I did any of that for you.”

Both of them were very quiet for an incalculable period of time. They simply stared at one another, and Hermione was sure to study the range of emotions that played on the blonde’s face. To her surprise, he was never angry, perhaps sad or let down at one point, but never mad at her. 

This made her puzzle, because this was not like him. This was not the behavior of the Draco Malfoy she knew. The way he looked at her was so contrary to years gone by that she was lost in it, and found she couldn't look away. She didn't even try. She just allowed her eyes to do as they pleased as they stayed locked on the grey orbs that never left her face; that flitted over every feature with care and precision.

It took a tick, but she eventually realized that her heartbeat had sped up, and she was hardly breathing. What felt like a flush was rushing from her chest to her neck and settled low in her face. She took a deep inhale when this all became evident to her, and blinked rapidly to regain control of her body.

"I don't think…" he began as she tried to recover, "I've ever heard you use that language before, Granger. Are you alright?" He seemed legitimately concerned, and this, for some reason, made her angrier than ever, the heat in her body now stemming from rage rather than… whatever it had been coming from moments prior.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," she snapped, standing to begin gathering her things and throwing them in her bag. "I owe you gratitude, now, I think. Thanks for ruining my study time. And thank you for ruining my holiday. You've been most kind."

She slipped her boots on, threw her cloak over her shoulders and tied it. She then grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and used the tip of her wand to tap her breakfast plate and send it back to the kitchens, before storming out of the library and down the stairs.

Her intention was now an early morning walk, far away from the castle and its other occupant; the very same one that had had her questioning her emotions and evaluating her reactions to him. She didn’t like the staring contest they’d just had, and how her body and mind had seemed happy to be lost in the moment where he’d scanned her face like one would a puzzle. He’d been trying to crack the code, it seemed, and she’d sat there and allowed him to try while… while…

“Was I blushing?!” she yelled at herself as she tore down the stairs as quickly as one could in snow boots. She did follow through with a palm to her face this time as she reached the landing, and groaned in frustration as she reached the last leg of her journey, moving out the grand entrance and towards the grounds where the Black Lake lie.

“I think I was blushing…” she said in disbelief, the snowflakes dancing in the wind hitting her face and melting. Not that she noticed much, for she was still in the red chair in the library, going over the details of her short encounter with Draco and trying to play off the flush that bounded up her neck at his eyes lingering on her for so long.

“No. No possible way. It wasn’t a blush! I was angry,” she reasoned as she turned down the path that led to the shore. Then she concluded, “I was just angry. That’s it.”

But, in her heart of hearts, she still doubted whether or not her conclusion was the truth of it. The feeling that she was lying to herself was something she had to physically shake, and to no avail


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was able to finish this chapter. I didn't think I'd make it.

Hermione adjusted her bag to rest on her lower back as she made it to the edge of the frozen lake, a scowl on her face, readying herself for her journey. With light steps she began to walk across the frozen surface, noting that the ice was plenty thick enough to hold her weight as she picked up her pace just enough to put her in danger of slipping.

But Hermione liked dangerous. She had to, right? Why else would she have lived her young life flirting with death? If she hadn't liked it to some degree, she would have never risked her neck time and time again. She, Ron and Harry put their lives on the line at least once a school year, usually far more than that, and it almost felt off to Hermione to not do something that could get her killed or expelled. Walking on potentially literal thin ice seemed like a good place to start; a good place to start the new year.

Eventually- left, right, left- she made it to one of the few islands that sat out in the lake, the ones usually only accessible by boat or broom. She made her way to a boulder and used her wand to blow all of the snow and ice off of the top so she could plant herself there. With steady eyes she scanned her surroundings, and did her best to think of anything but Draco. 

She found it funny that she'd been doing her best to think of anything but real life, and then Draco comes along and she wanted to do anything but think of him. The night before, before walking to Puddifoot's, she'd been in a low place. She had gotten lost in a downward spiral of thoughts and memories so deep she hadn't even realised she'd been there, and when she saw him, an entirely new set of memories emerged.

Hermione remembered all of the shit Draco had exacerbated for her, and everyone else. It had already been bad enough, scary enough, dark enough, before he fixed the cabinet. Then, after that, it was all downhill. Terror had a homebase- which had been her safe place- and he had fucked it up.

But not because he had much of a choice. It was all very "cabinet, or die", she supposed.

She groaned and put her face in her hands. She was back to being wishy-washy about him again. Just when she was getting to the nitty gritty of his behavior, she would remember that he hadn't had much of a choice; that flirting death hadn't been on his list of things to do like it had been for her; flirting with death didn't fulfill a strange need within Draco like she knew it did for Hermione. 

Dark brown eyes looked over the vast expanse of frozen, powder covered lake, back to the school where she could hardly make out the tallest towers, singing lightly and slowly, “I don't ever want to feel, like I did that day. Take me to the place I love, take me all the way. I don't ever want to feel…”

The witch sat on her boulder for quite a while thereafter, contemplating many things, including those which were Draco related. She didn’t know why he mattered so much to her, though she had to suspect that it had something to do with the fact that his presence had forced it upon her. His presence, and the way he looked at her; the fact that he’d asked her if she was alright.

He knew, just like she knew he would. It had hardly taken him but a few moments of their being in each other’s presence, and he knew that she wasn’t herself. Then she went off on him, and she was sure that that had only confirmed his suspicions. She was never one to be kind to him, not ever, but he was right when he said he’d never heard her use that language before. It was a new development to her vocabulary, and she was somehow surprised he’d noticed.

Had he really spent that much time paying attention to the things she said? She just assumed he tuned her out, unless looking for something to pick on her for. Maybe it hadn’t been that simple? 

‘Perhaps,’ she thought, ‘it had been more than that?’

Hermione shook her head, and rolled her eyes as far back as she could get them to go- to the point of almost pain- but they stopped when she heard her stomach grumble its discomfort. She looked down in the direction of the noise, and contemplated either Accio’ing her brulee, which sat under a refrigeration charm in her room, or going to the kitchens to grab the lunch that was more than likely waiting for her. She looked at her watch, and noticed it was five to noon. Lunch was indeed ready. 

With a shimmy, she jumped off the boulder. She grabbed her pack and wrapped it around her to where it was once again resting on her back, and she started her journey back to the school. There was one or two times where she’d fallen, the witch momentarily regretting the fact that she hated gloves when landing in the powdery snow. At one point, the ice made noises that sounded not so safe, but she’d used her wand to cast a freezing charm and she went on her way. 

As she got closer and closer to the school, walking up the trail from the lake to the grand entrance, more and more became visible to her. There was a moment she hadn’t wanted to believe her eyes, where she blinked back a flew snowflakes and peered harder through the storm. She grimaced as she came to admit to herself that she wasn’t just seeing things, but that Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the grand entrance as if he was waiting for her, and with what looked like a letter in his hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I apologize for the grammatical errors in the last chapter! There weren't many, but they bothered me, so I fixed them. I also had Hermione singing a song that wouldn't have been released onto an album until 2006! This story is set in 1999. I felt like a jackass for that as well, so that is now also fixed. So here's this chapter, which is a little longer than the last, and I read over multiple times before posting. Thank you for your continued support.

Hermione knocked the snow off of her boots on the snowless stairs, before she ironed her will to walk through the double doors and right past the tall blonde. She still wasn't sure if she should acknowledge or ignore him. She wasn't too keen on the idea of being so indecisive. Usually the urge to pretend he didn't exist was an easy choice.

She was starting to wonder if there was something actually wrong with her. Did she need the infirmary like he'd asked the night before? She wasn't "alright" was she?

"This is for you," he said quickly, before she could disappear. He held the letter out, right up to touch her left arm, and she froze to look down and over at it. On the front, in Harry's lazy script, was "To Mione", and just below that, "From H + R".

"Or so I'm guessing... 'Mione," the Slytherin added, a playful tinge to his tone as he spoke her nickname.

She looked up at him with a glare while simultaneously reaching out to snatch the letter from his hand with lightning quick reflexes, which surprised him. His near-black brows were lifted high, and he tilted his head to the side with a sly yet tiny smirk as he said, "That was an impressive display there, Granger. I'd say that was seeker-worthy speed."

Hermione gave him a wry, sarcastic smile, and said, "I had to learn to be quicker and quicker last year. To avoid getting struck by Nagini and caught by Snatchers. I was getting good, to have avoided that last fate for as long as I did. There was this one particularly unfortunate time that my speed didn't matter when it came down to it, and I was forced into the company of the most deplorable people."

She said this last bit on purpose, with one desired effect: to shock him into a silence long enough for her to make it down the stairs to the kitchen.

The Gryffindor didn't make it but two steps, though, before she was stopped in her tracks by him saying, "I found the letter in the great hall. At the Ravenclaw table, along with our lunch. The house elves are going to be serving meals there for us from now on. Might as well come eat it, or their hard work will be for nothing."

She wanted to punch his face while asking him what he was playing at. He knew she wasn't fond of this idea, both the prospect of the house elves putting in extra work and that she'd be sharing a table with him. She inhaled deeply, because she now needed to think further into ways to avoid Draco before she went insane and finally killed him.

"What are you playing at?" she asked with a snap, and he became confused and defensive at the question.

"What? I'm not playing at anything. I… I just figured you wouldn't want the house elves to go through all of that work for nothing. You're an advocate, and all of that, aren't you?" He said all of this easily, in a believable manner that made Hermione's glare soften. "Besides," he added quickly as he undoubtedly watched her defenses drop, "if you hate it so much, I'm sure you could tell them to go back to doing it the way they have been."

She considered this and gave a single nod before she pushed past him and walked into the great hall where, just as he'd said, a small yet impressive spread sat at the Ravenclaw table, it being one of the two tables closest to the doors. At said table were two settings, one of which was already in use, and the other, the one closest to the exit, was empty and waiting for her.

With unease in her slow steps, she made it to her spot, putting her letter in her pack to read later when she was alone and comfortable. Draco, with his long legs, made it back to his spot first, and he resumed his eating while simultaneously grabbing up the charms book from earlier that had been sitting out of sight on the bench beside him. He set it on the table next to his plate and opened it up before he started perusing, no longer paying Hermione mind. And it was a good thing, too, because she probably would have been angry if he kept trying to talk to her.

He was already acting friendly enough, enough to arouse suspicion in her. A more than normal amount of suspicion. He'd said he hadn't been playing at anything, and she didn't believe it for a second.

The witch settled in cautiously either way, sure to take her wand from her cloak as she took the garment off and set it atop her pack. She then took her wand from her pocket and set it between her thigh and the bench for quick access. She then served herself up a hearty lunch of soup and sandwiches, her eyes glancing at Draco every few seconds to be sure he was still busy reading, rather than paying her the particular attention he had been that day.

Ten or so minutes passed where his eyes didn't leave his book, the man seeming to have forgotten how to eat, only for him to suddenly look up at her and ask, "Have you heard something about needing volume two of this set? It wasn't on my book list. Only volume one."

Hermione suppressed a groan. But not a large one, because he'd made it longer than she'd originally thought he would. He did talk to her, though, so she began to load her plate with foods she could eat for dinner, her plan to not return later, so as to avoid having any other odd dining experiences with him.

"I've had enough of this. I'll be asking the house elves to leave my plate in the kitchen, because you're playing at something and I'm not going to join you. I'm going to Gryffindor. It seems the only place I can be where you're not around to bother me endlessly," she stated gruffly, standing and grabbing her effects and her plate.

"I guess I'll be seeing you in the library in the morning, then?" he asked, knowing his question would irk her after her outburst. At least the cunning smirk she looked up to see implied he was taking some joy from it, and she scowled deeper before turning and leaving.

"Oh. I'm sure of it, Malfoy," she replied sarcastically over her shoulder, knowing damn well she was going to be doing all she could to avoid him from there on out. "Same bat-time, same bat-channel."


	10. Chapter 10

Sneaking into the library at midnight was a stroke of genius in Hermione's opinion. She needed to be sure to avoid Draco at all costs, because, after only a little more than fifteen hours, things were already beginning to change in how she regarded him, and she didn't like that idea one iota.

The old Hermione, the somehow more stable yet just as unstable, but in different ways, would have already hexed him or cursed him, knowing McGonagall would never believe the blonde if he told on her. But she hadn't done anything at all. She hadn't cursed, or hexed, or punched him, and she wasn't sure she could trust herself around him. Next thing she knew, they'd be studying together and she'd be blushing again, and by the gods, she'd rather get arrested for assault than have a repeat of her earlier pink and embarrassing reaction to him.

She'd gone through the entirety of the lunch encounter without having such a reaction, so she had to think that her flush had been a one-time happenstance, brought about by anger and her holding her breath to keep herself from cursing him.

'Yes,' she thought. 'That was TOTALLY what it was.'

With muffled snow boots and a warming charm on her cloak, she snuck from Gryffindor down to the surprisingly warm and near pitch black library. The only light was from the roaring fireplaces, which she'd suspected would be out by that time, and one single, though bright, candle somewhere in the stacks. Hermione tilted her head in confusion as she gripped her wand tighter and moved through the maze of shelves towards the middle of the library where the candle's light shone like a beacon.

The witch held her wand out as she quickly turned the corner, only to drop her hand to her side not a second later.

At a table sat Draco. Or, slept Draco, rather.

She drew closer, seeing that the left side of his face was on an open book, and his ink covered right hand loosely gripped a quill over a long piece of parchment covered in Herbology notes. His left arm was up and framing the outside of their advanced Herbology textbook.

"Two. Two classes together," Hermione said quietly as she inspected what he was working on.

Then her eyes traveled up from the paper to the man's face, and her head tilted again as she got lost in assessing his features: his perfectly trimmed eyebrows that grew in towards each other but didn't get close to touching; black lashes that were longer than most men she knew, but not as long as her own, that lined the eyes she'd recently grown to think of quite a bit; a nose that came to a perfect point, that did just as much for his profile as his lips, which were relaxed and didn't hint at a frown or a scowl or a smirk. His aesthetically pleasing features ended with a strong and pointed chin, and she could admit that a sleeping Draco Malfoy was a handsome Draco Malfoy. He seemed so natural, and it was strange to see him in such a state.

Of its own accord, her right arm raised from her side and she had to stop herself from testing a section of blonde hair that she suspected would always feel soft. Like he'd just conditioned it heavily.

But she stopped herself, physically and mentally, as her hand instead went to rest on his shoulder to shake him lightly from his sleep.

Draco jumped awake suddenly, his eyes widening in fear and panic as he sat back from her, his hand dropping his quill and reaching for his wand that hung out of his jeans pocket. He almost had his wand fully drawn by the time he realised who he was looking at, before sighing loudly and dropping his forehead into the palm of his left hand.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione!" He said her name like he'd said it a million times: easily. She ignored it. "I… I almost bloody cursed you!" He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes, then shook his head in an attempt to wake up faster.

"I'm sorry," she apologized with a tad of genuine remorse. "But you were sleeping, and I'm sure this wasn't your first choice in places to sleep."

Hermione knew all too well what the look on Draco's face had been when he'd awoken to her touch. It was PTSD, the kind one got from going through war. She, Harry, and Ron all reacted the same exact way when they would wake each other up, and Hermione suspected that it would take years to go away, if it ever went away.

"Yeah, well…" Draco began as he leaned back in his chair, tossing his wand onto the table near his book. "You'd be surprised how wrong you are. There's a first time for everything, though, I'm sure."

"I beg your pardon?" She asked him, confused as to what he'd meant, the meaning even harder to decipher in his tone that was scratchy with sleep.

"I slept three hours in Slytherin last night. I figured it would take me some time to get used to it. Sleeping on a book is far more comfortable than being there," he said. She could only blink at this answer, and he looked up at her with a small smile as he added, "I'm sure you've fallen asleep on books plenty of times."

Hermione didn't know what kept her where she was, or why she answered instead of walking away to get to her own studying, but she said none-the-less, "I have. Plenty. I did so two nights ago. My neck doesn't even notice anymore."

His hand with long fingers raised to his neck and rubbed it lightly, then he said, "I'm not used to it. But it's welcome." He paused for a second as he looked down at his book, then back up at her in confusion to ask, "What time is it? What are you doing here?"

The witch licked her lips and considered not answering. She'd done her civic duty. She'd woken him from what looked like an uncomfortable sleep, and she should have already been on her merry way… But she answered, "It's midnight, and I'm here to study."

He drew his brows together as he asked, "I thought you weren't going to be here until morning? "Bad times" and "bad channels"? Whatever that means."

She couldn't help but let her lips twitch into a small smile for a second before she controlled herself, saying, "I was being sarcastic, Malfoy."

"Ah. I should have guessed," he said.

"You really should have," she said with a nod.

There was a pause, until he looked up at her uneasily and asked, "Would you… care to sit and study, then?"


	11. Chapter 11

Her jaw dropped an obvious amount. She hadn't been expecting him to come right out and ask her like that. At all. They weren't mates. They weren't even what some would consider acquaintances, despite having known each other near half of their lives.

"Study? As in... together?" She asked, the awe obvious in her voice. He didn’t have to answer, because his expression was enough for her to know that that was exactly what he had meant.

“Malfoy,” she began, resting her left hand on her hip as she shifted her weight to the same side, readying herself for a spiel that she had felt coming on since the morning before, during their first tete-a-tete in the library. “I don’t know why you’re so keen to talk to me, or be around me, but it’s starting to make me angry and very confused. I know that what I said in court made your freedom possible, but I never did so for your thanks, and I definitely didn’t do it so that we could be friends afterward. If you are, in fact, trying to be honestly kind and grateful, I appreciate the notion, but you have to understand what you’ve done, to everyone and to me, will not be forgotten in one day.”

He stayed still and quiet, and she went on.

“I’ll admit that you were, quite literally, child’s play when it came to the larger problems the Light side dealt with last year, but you were still a right arse, and you helped Voldemort kill hundreds of innocent wizards and muggles. This one day of niceties and not calling my “mudblood” is going to make me forget all of those years you were horrible. I know why you did it, but I can’t forget it, and I won’t forget it. Ever.”

“I never expected you to,” he interjected. Whether or not he knew she wasn’t done was beyond her. “But I have to ask you what you stand to lose, considering I am being sincere?”

“That’s a very Slytherin question,” she stated, mostly out of surprise after his admitting he was being genuine. She hadn’t expected that.

“Slytherin or not, it’s a valid question. What could you stand to lose from the situation?” He asked.

She shrugged, offering seriously, “My mind?”

He smirked at this answer, amused by it despite her speech, but asked, “I’m sure we’ve both accomplished that before now, Granger, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, you’ve sworn at me twice in less than twenty four hours, and I’ve made multiple attempts to speak to you.”

“So you also consider yourself crazy for talking to me?” She asked, interested in hearing in answer.

“Don’t you?” he responded. She didn’t answer, because he made a fine point with his simple question. “I think we all lost our minds years back, so you shouldn’t worry about it. Besides, haven’t you been lonely being here by yourself for holiday?”

“Lonely enough to consider you for company?” she asked. He shrugged, but that was all the answer she got.

With a sigh, she weighed her options, and after a minute’s internal debate, she gave him a slight frown as she moved to the opposite side of the table, setting her book and wand down on the surface as she sat. 

“I’ll give it a try. But I reserve all rights to either hex or curse you, as well as leave when I’ve had enough,” she said. 

He nodded at this. “I can live with that, I suppose. But I promise I will give you no reason to do any of those things.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said as she pulled volume two of their Charms text from her pack. “And, to answer your earlier question, book two is not needed for Advanced Charms. However, there is a version of a spell in book two that we’ll be learning about in book one, and I already know how to cast it the one in book one.”

“Which one?” he asked, curiosity on his features as he Summoned their textbook from where it sat in the Charms section of the library.

“It’s like the advanced Mending Charm, but it’s even stronger,” she explained. “McGonagall used it to repair sections of the school over the summer. I was only able to do so in small sections. She did entire walls in seconds. I figured it would be useful to know someday, considering it does more than walls.” She paused before adding, “It even works on memories.”

"It may come into play one day, yes," he said. "But does that mean you know all of the spells in volume one?"

She shrugged lightly, saying, "Yes. Why? Are you… having a hard time with some of them?"

"No. So far so good. But I haven't tried them all like you have," he answered.

"I don't think you'll have much of a problem," she admitted, her mind going back to the cabinet for a split second.

"Was that a compliment?" He asked, one brow raised in amazement.

She bit her lip momentarily, and sighed before saying, "You mustn't be a complete dunce to have fixed the vanishing cabinet. It took an advanced charm to fix it, did it not?"

The air thickened between them while Draco paused, for him to finally say, "It did."

"Then I'm sure Mending and Protego charms will be easy for you," she admitted, their eyes locked onto each other with meaning

The bevy of emotions that moved between them was enough to bring the air of the library to palpability. Her brown eyes were, for lack of a better word, stuck to his grey ones as they read each other's mutual feelings of fear, regret and sadness. The years of prior pain and turmoil became evident on their faces, and if Draco hadn't displayed remorse so strong she couldn't deny what it was, she may have had to leave his company as it all flooded over her.

But, as it just so happened he looked contrite, sad even, and Hermione nodded a few small nods before breaking eye contact and reaching for her pack to pull out ink and a roll of parchment.


	12. Chapter 12

“What..? How did you do that? Show me.” He moved from his seat to stand beside her with his wand flourished.

She smiled at his enthusiasm, and said, “Well, when you first start practicing this spell, it’s good to have your feet well planted. It doesn't require a lot of movement, because it's a barrier. Barriers don't move, so being in a solid stance helps, at least at first." She demonstrated to him a good distance at which one would stand with feet spread apart. “Eventually you’ll be able to cast it while moving, but you should try it like this for now. It isn’t something small; something to be trifled with. When I become an expert at it I’ll be able to cast it over the entire school. I was ok at it last year on the run, but I could never cast one as strong as I just did, even standing still.”

“You must have gotten a lot of practice, though, to be able to cast it like that now,” he mused as he mimicked her foot placement and body language.

“You know I did,” she said, giving a small sigh as she began to circle him and adjusting his stance; using her foot to kick his left foot farther back a tad, and a finger in the crook of his right elbow to lower his arm.

It was almost noon the next day. They’d left the library around two in the morning after sitting in a mostly uncomfortable silence and taking notes. And even though they had only said but a couple of words to each other, before they left the doors Draco asked if they could meet up at ten that morning. The witch almost said no, but she’d nodded her acquiescence anyhow, before they’d said their goodnights and parted ways. 

“What of Potter and Weasley? They must have been good at this to have gotten into Auror training so young, even with their reputations proceeding them,” Draco asked.

“Harry and I were on the same level with Protegos by the time it was all over,” she said. “Ron, believe it or not, was even better at them. I just assumed it was the protective lion in him that made it possible for him to cast a Protego almost as good as the one I just cast, but eight months ago. I’m sure he’s impressing his superiors with it as we speak.”

Draco dropped his wand to turn and look at her, curiosity in the grey eyes she was slowly becoming more and more accustomed to by the hour as he asked, “Why… didn’t you go with them? To Auror training, I mean? Weasley may have you in Protegos, but could he claim the same with anything else?”

“Oh! A compliment while simultaneously insulting my friend?” she asked, a smile on her lips. He raised a brow at her, the smallest of smiles on his own features. Then she shrugged and sighed, saying, “I… I don’t want to be an Auror. I agree that I’d be good at it, but it isn’t where my heart lies. You’re already good at Charms, but would prefer it to a life of, say… Potions?”

It was his turn to shrug as he said, “No. I suppose you’re right. I’d prefer to achieve a Potions, or even Alchemy Mastery. But if you don’t want to be an Auror, then what do you want to be? With all of your impressive marks?”

“I…” She froze, and that dark dread, the one she hadn’t felt yet that morning, snuck its way into her heart and stilled her dreams of the future. She hadn’t had many. Granted, she was still on the path she’d been on before everything had gone south, but the image of her spending a year in her secluded cottage in the woods, to take a break from it all for a while, flew into her mind so quickly it was like it had never left.

“I’ll be applying to attain a Charms Mastery soon. I hope to take over Flitwick’s post when the time comes,” she said.

“I think that would suit you perfectly,” he said, his voice light and sincere as he looked down at her in approval. 

“I’m glad you think so,” she answered, tearing her eyes from his softened ones. She thought on this as she went back to positioning his body; moving his feet with her own and adjusting his arm. She made a fool’s mistake when she grabbed him by the shoulders to move his torso, feeling his lithe muscles under his grey t-shirt as they rippled under her palms. 

Hermione pulled her hands away quickly, rubbing them on her pants as if she could forget the feeling is she did so. She cleared her throat and said, “Alright. Take a few good tries at it, then let’s go get some lunch. I’m famished.”

He nodded, eyes still facing front with determination. He must not have noticed her touch like she had, and she had to blink back what she thought to be insanity as she silently admitted that the feel of his muscles was pleasing. 

“Protego Maxima,” Draco said loudly and clearly, his wand hand mimicking the movement of Hermione’s earlier casting. A white light shot from his wand and formed clear walls about the two, but it was not nearly as large as Hermione’s, though the witch had to admit that it was at least sound.

“It looks like it would hold against other spells,” she said. 

“Finite Incantatem,” Draco said, dropping his barrier. He turned his head so as not to lose his stand, looking back at her where she stood behind him to his left, and said, “But not as strong as yours. I’m gonna try once more before lunch.”

She nodded at him. “Alright. Try it again, then. But this time, relax your shoulders.” Hermione licked her lips and avoided looking at said shoulders as she mentioned them, keeping her eyes forward as her face became warm and he gave the spell another go.


	13. Chapter 13

The two packed up their belongings and made down the stairs towards the kitchens in a comfortable silence. Draco’s second attempt at a Protego was a tad stronger, and that fact had made the blonde excited about trying again after getting some food. 

When Hermione had arrived at the library that morning, there’d been some toast and tea waiting for her, thanks to Draco’s foresight and the house elves. The witch hadn’t forgotten to send a note to the kitchens the day before, stating she wasn’t going to be taking meals in the great hall until term started once again, and she hadn’t woken up early enough to get to the kitchens before ten, so she’d been grateful for the small fare, but it was now time for a solid meal.

“With their tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns, in your head, in your head they are crying,” Hermione sang almost silently, so as not to draw Draco’s attention.

When the war had ended, Hermione, Harry and Ron had received ample rewards for the work they’d done to bring down Voldemort, all paid for by the seized accounts of well-known and deceased Death Eaters. Hermione wouldn’t have to worry about anything for a while, including any further education, or even her dream to be a woods witch. But with it, the young woman had spent a portion of galleons on vinyl records, all of which she’d shrunk and brought with her to school in September, for music had been one of her genuine reprieves from the world; both the one inside and outside of her mind.

The Cranberries’ ‘No Need to Argue’ album had been on the player in her room for over a week until a couple days ago. Now it was The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ ‘Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik’. She found she liked the funky beats that caused her to dance and bop her head from time to time. She equally liked the slow and sad tracks. 

But she couldn’t get ‘Zombie’ out of her head for some reason, and if it wasn’t that, it was ‘Under The Bridge’.

“What are you singing?” Draco asked her as they reached the bottom of the last set of stairs that lead to the kitchen portrait. 

“Eh… A song by a muggle band,” she answered, leaving it at that.

“I’ve noticed you hum and sing a lot,” he pointed out, and she shrugged.

“I don't notice,” she answered as he tickled the pear and swung open wide the portrait so that they both could enter. She really didn't notice. It just happened.

Draco grabbed his plate and sat at one of the five small tables lined against the wall for just such an occasion that a faculty or staff member preferred to sit in the warm silence of the kitchens. Hermione followed his example and sat across from him, and the two began to eat their meals. Tea service arrived seconds after they settled in, and five minutes passed where neither said a thing. Until Draco said, "So why didn't you go home for break?"

Hermione froze, her four fork points deep in her haggis. Slowly she looked up at him, and he was fixing her with an intent stare. She said, “Because it seemed right.”

“It seemed right to stay away from friends and family? I know Potter and Weasley aren’t able to leave training, but what about little Weasley? And. Well. I mean… are your parents..?”

“They’re alive and well,” she offered up. With a deep inhale she explained, "I’d thought of visiting the Weasleys, but Ginny sent me a letter a couple weeks ago saying that Molly was having a hard time with the season… George is too." Draco looked back down at his plate, but gave small, understanding nods. "She said Molly could hardly stop crying, and George had only left his and Fred’s room to open the shop. He has a flat above the three Ws, but I guess he kind of moved back into the Burrow a few weeks ago. I didn’t feel it right to disturb them, if I’m being honest.

"As far as my parents go… Well. That's a different story altogether. I…" Hermione paused as his eyes snapped back up, remorse evident in the grey pools, and she almost didn't go on. But, for some reason, she felt comfortable enough with Draco now that she decided to speak anyway, even if she was still a little uncomfortable.

"I Obliviated them before Harry, Ron and I went on the run. I gave them new identities and I sent them to Australia to make sure they were safe. When the war ended, I went looking for them. Harry and Ron took two weeks off, then enlisted into the Auror program, so I spent over a month down there by myself. It was a good thing, really. It gave me time to come to terms with all that had happened. But after almost six weeks, it was by some stroke of complete luck that I found them. I was in Melbourne, sitting on the beach, and there they were, walking down the boardwalk one evening, hand in hand and all smiles.

"I… I almost didn't restore their memories," she admitted. She recalled, in her own mind, the memory of seeing them, and how she'd been overcome with joy and excitement. She'd taken a few steps to go to them, but stopped to watch the couple as they looked to be having the best day of their lives. "They looked so content. So… happy.

“Before I left last year, when I told them of what was coming to the world, what Voldemort was bringing to everyone's doorstep, they were so anxious and worried. My last memory of them before leaving them with new memories was how scared they looked. When I saw them on the boardwalk, I knew that that had only been that scared because I was born a witch, and they wouldn't have needed to be so worried if they hadn't had me."

"Hernione-" Draco began to interject, but she cut him off, and he fell silent once more to listen intently.

"I restored their memories. Well. I didn't. McGonagall did. I had tried many times over the few days after finding them, only to have no luck. So I owled McGonagall, and she made a trip down to Melbourne. She restored their memories with the spell I'm learning in the second volume of our Charms text. She'd done it instantly, with such ease, and it was then that I knew I had to learn it, to be proficient in it. I don't know why I had to, but I did. So instead of burdening my parents with my magic and my presence, I decided to stay here and study. They forgave me for what I’d done, but… but…"

"But you haven't forgiven yourself." He finished for her, voice somber. She slowly shook her head at him, and he gave her a wry smile. "If it's any consolation, I understand how that feels."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos, reviews and bookmarks! I'm overjoyed by the traffic I've gotten for this little experimental fic. Keep it up, and I'll keep updating.

“I understand that the Wizengamot has forgiven me. I got off easy. I know it. At least in comparison to my mum’s five years and my dad’s fifteen. But there are plenty of people out there who have not, and will not, ever forgive me, and I see it every time I pass someone on the street. I see it in their faces, and it is a constant reminder that I may never be forgiven. And that reminds me that I can't forgive myself. This-” Draco paused to remove his jacket and hold out his left arm to show her his Dark Mark, the one Hermione had noted earlier; the one she ignored just as easily as her own ‘Mudblood’ scar. “-will always remind me that I won’t be forgiven.

“But, every now and again, I like to imagine a time that I could be. If I do enough good, maybe I will forgive myself. You at least tried to keep your family safe in a way that didn’t hurt anyone but yourself. I tried to keep my family safe in any way that didn’t hurt me. It was a foolish way of going about it, and I know I will regret it every day of my life, even if I figure out some way to live with myself. Or, Merlin forbid, even forgive myself.”

“Is that why you seem so different?” Hermione asked. “Because you’re trying to figure out a way to forgive yourself?”

“Is the fact that you’re trying to punish yourself why you seem so different?” he retorted. 

She didn’t answer him. She didn’t want to say ‘yes’, because his words were, in fact, spot on. Hermione was punishing herself, and she hadn’t even realized it. But here comes Draco, and not even two days later he had not only noticed she was off, but called her out on what she was doing.

In her silence, he went on, “I think we’re both punishing ourselves really.” He took a sip of tea. “I almost didn’t come back for school. I almost didn’t owl McGonagall. When I did, however, she seemed on board. It took a day of waiting for her to consult the Minister on what he thought, even though the decision is ultimately up to her, but he agreed with the idea.

“A couple of days ago, the day after Christmas, I received a letter from McGonagall saying that she thought it wise if I came to school early, and for two reasons. One was that I should see if I’d be able to handle being at the school again; if I’d be able to face it after everything that happened. And the second was that you were here.” Hermione tilted her head at him. She wasn’t expecting that part. “She wrote, saying that if I could face the school, that was all well and good. But could I face you? Could I make nice and share the old school for a week without fighting you?

"She'll be "taking the piss", as it were, because I know better than to be rude to you, or try and fight you, ever again. I prefer my bollocks intact, thank you-” Hermione gave him a pointed look while feeling the muscles near her lips try and twitch into a smile. “- and I’m not so much of a perpetual imbecile to think that disrespecting you is wise. I have more respect for you than that." Hermione blinked at him, not sure how to handle all of this information, especially the last bit.

"I wasn't always aware that what I felt for you was respect," Draco said. "I was always so angry at you for being more capable than me, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel some… admiration. It wasn't until sixth year that I began to admit that to myself, and it wasn't until last year that I realised how much until one night I thought, 'Granger will figure this out. She and Potter always figure it out.' The school was a shite show, and there seemed no end to any of it. But when I would think of you and Potter and Weasley out there, still free and out there searching for an answer, knowing that you were our only hope, I knew then that respect was what I had for you. For all three of you, really. But my respect and admiration for you was strongest, and had come first."

Draco went quiet then. He looked away from her and back to his plate to continue eating, leaving Hermione to stare at him, dumbfounded and speechless. Her heart, at some point, had begun to race and beat against her chest like a war drum. Her mouth fell open some, and all she could do for a moment was gawk at him. 

He admired her?

He respected her?

These concepts were ones she was used to everyone having for her but him, and now he was admitting that he felt this way for her for years? How was she supposed to accept such news? Anyone else would have probably shrugged it off, or told him ‘thank you’, or something else as droll, but to Hermione, it meant so much more. She sort of wished he’d let her know sooner than now, but she knew why he hadn’t. If he’d sent her a letter from Tenarcha, she would have thought it some trick or desperate ploy. 

But he’d had the courage to say all of these things to her face, and she had to tilt her head as she wondered where such courage had come from. He wasn’t known for courage, and she was forced to feel amazed as she came to grips with how much he’d changed in the past seven months. She could only speculate what war had changed in him, and then add to that months in prison. 

Who was this Draco Malfoy? 

…Who was this Hermione Granger, to feel so moved by what he said?

That frustrating flush hit her chest once more, then her neck, and up to her face, and she took a deep, steadying breath as she looked back down to her plate to hide her blush.


	15. Chapter 15

Neither of the two said much of anything the rest of the day. Save for their continuing to practice their Charms in the library, there were no more conversations that brought about extra feelings in the witch, and she was grateful for that...

But conversations were not the only way to stir feelings in someone. 

By the time dinner came around, Hermione had experienced a few feelings she wasn’t sure how to deal with, all of which were Draco related, confusing, and, at one point, infuriating. 

Hermione hadn’t been mad at him, moreso at herself, and on more than one occasion she’d almost left his company so that she could be alone and try and make sense of what was happening. She didn’t want to seem any more awkward, so she stood her ground and finished up the rest of the study session, doing her best to seem in the moment instead of the “moments”.

The first incident was when they’d made it to the back of the library, in the corner with the four house pride chairs. With their packs on the coffee table, Hermione went to work moving all of the chairs along the wall near the crackling fireplace, casting spells easily while Draco set to removing his jacket. While doing so, Hermione’s eyes darted towards the movement, and she watched as his arm and chest muscles moved against his shirt, the fabric stretching and accentuating the body of a man underneath. With slightly widened eyes, Hermione turned away from him, only for things to become worse when he walked past her to hang his blazer on the back of the chair closest to them both. He'd gotten close to her as he traveled, and she had to begrudgingly admit that her eyes had moved down to his back side- out of curiosity, of course!- only for him turn back to her with a winning smile.

She'd frozen mid-spell to stare at him, and didn't notice until his smile fell and he looked at her odd stance, asking, "Is this a posture lesson, or..?"

The witch snapped out of it immediately, and lied with seeker speed, "No. I was just waiting for you to move out of the way so I can move the table there."

"Oh! Sorry about that." He said and moved behind her immediately, which she was happy for. Her eyes became slightly larger, the woman exasperated by her own distraction by something as simple as Draco removing his jacket, then she went about moving the table to the spot the blonde recently occupied.

Incident two occurred when Draco had cast a Protego Maxima with a little too much gusto. The strength of his casting, matched with his inexperience, caused an entire bookshelf to be pulled toward the two; the heavy wood and tomes and parchments toppling down onto them. Or it would have, had Draco not been fast enough to grab Hermione by the hand and move them both backwards with quick steps until he was forced to sit in the high-back Gryffindor chair, and she to sit on top of his lap.

The two were frozen in shock as they watched the wave of books and bits of wood come to a deafening rest at their feet, both too in awe at the sight to life their wands and pause the mayhem. They both just looked down at the pile of destruction in awe for a few seconds before Hermione looked back at him, and he looked over at her.

Their faces were close, closer than they’d ever been. There was a breath between them, and their eyes said enough about their alarm at being so close to one another; at the witch sitting in his lap. Draco didn’t move a muscle, which was both understandable and confusing. Shouldn’t he want to move her, or was he afraid to touch her anymore than he had? She didn’t move either, though. Shouldn’t she want to move? In their mutual immobility, the two stayed in their spots for a few seconds more, their eyes not leaving the other’s face.

Hermione could have sworn that one or the other of them- she couldn’t tell you which one, to be honest- began to lean closer to the other, and she swallowed hard, with wide eyes, before she leapt to her feet. This was when she almost ran away, and she wasn’t sure anyone would blame her if she had. But running away was something Hermione didn’t do often, and she instead busied herself with putting everything back to the way it was, using the Mending charm she’d been practicing. With quick flicks of her wand, the shelf, books and parchment were all back in their original place, and she turned to find that Draco was still sitting.

But his eyes were on the fireplace, his hand up, the man using his thumbnail to slowly scratch just below his bottom lip as he stared off in deep thought. 

The witch inhaled before saying, “Thanks for the save. That would have hurt. Badly. I wasn't expecting that to happen."

Her words snapped him out of his mind, and he looked up at her with a small, distracted, smile, saying as he stood, “Magic, right? Who knows. But I’m glad I was able to move you. And I apologize. I think I was overzealous with my efforts. I’ll be more cautious next time.”

The last incident was their last interaction of the night, and this was the one that made her angry. 

Draco had managed to cast the spell with more precision, and the results were becoming more and more impressive every time. But eventually the wizard had had enough of practicing, and turned to her to say, “I’m going to call it a day, Granger.” She nodded at him in agreeance, and he asked, “Dinner, then?”

More than anything she wanted to say yes. She would later think on how strange it was that she went from not wanting much to do with him, to spending the entire day with him, and the realization that she was willing to spend even more time with the wizard made her snap into reality. 

“I… I think I’m going to go on a walk, actually. I haven’t been outside all day, and I need some fresh air.” He nodded his understanding, and gave her a smile before extending his hand out to her.

"Be safe out there, then. And thank you for all of the tips and lessons." She eyed his hand before reaching out to take it, the two shaking lightly… but they didn't let go right away.

A few seconds ticked by before either thought to let go, and Hermione caught a hint of pink his face, only noticeable due to candlelight, which had his grey eyes darting away from her and landing on his feet. She took her hand from his once it occurred to her why he looked so awkward.

"I will be. Safe that is," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "And you're most welcome. We'll have to do this again sometime."

"I'd like that," he answered instantly, eagerly. 

"I'd like it, too," she added.

The air was thick with tension for a moment, wherein he looked up at her, and she stopped breathing regularly as neither made to leave. It felt like earlier, when she'd been on his lap; when she couldn't tell if they were both leaning in, or just him, or just her. But when she came to her senses and noticed, she gave a quick goodnight before grabbing up her things and walking quickly from the library, and down the stairs towards the winter storm that raged outside.


	16. Chapter 16

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours that Hermione had been spending time with Draco, and she was already feeling like she might, possibly, maybe- who knows- fancy him. At least a little. She could admit that it was at least a little. She could admit that he looked good while sleeping, and he had been open with her about himself, tried to apologize- she had stopped him- and he’d also enjoyed being tutored by her, which was all very attractive

The witch thought about how many people had enjoyed her knack for walking them through certain spells, and the list was pretty short. Harry and Ron had abhorred her efforts for years, only to change their tunes in fifth year. For many, actually. But it meant a lot to her that Draco had wanted to be taught, and that he’d listened to her and put in effort. It was attractive to spend time with a man who wanted to learn without her first having to gripe at him for over four years. 

Snow was coming down in a deluge. The powder and ice that was already on the ground was only an inch or two from her knees, forcing the witch to grab her wand and extend her boots up to her thighs. Then she continued her trek through the storm and darkness towards Hogsmeade, Puddifoot’s soup and brulee on her mind. A hot cup of tea didn’t sound bad either. But, what sounded best, was some time outside of the castle and away from the blonde who was plaguing her thoughts. She couldn’t shake the thought, look, or feel of him away, and the more seconds that passed like this only made her angrier and angrier at herself.

What was she doing? 

What was she thinking?

Had she almost kissed Draco Malfoy? Or did he almost kiss her? And if neither of these things occurred, did she need a psychological evaluation? Had she been imagining the moments that they’d held each other’s gaze, or held each other’s hand, far too long? He’d admitted he respected and admired her, but that didn’t mean he fancied her and wanted to kiss her, right? And, even if that was what that meant, did she want that? Or had she been truly lonely, like he’d deduced the night prior?

She shook her head, because she knew it wasn’t from loneliness. She’d been enjoying her space, ever since her trip to Australia. Spending the better part of a year in a tent with her two best friends had not allowed for much privacy or peace, so she’d been taking advantage of the time she got. No… It wasn’t loneliness.

But, if that wasn’t it, did that mean she genuinely enjoyed Draco’s company? His refreshing eagerness to learn? His undeniably good looks that only became more obvious the more he smiled and the less he scowled? How was it even possible for her to enjoy his company after so many years of disliking the man?

There were so many questions running amuck in her mind, and she couldn’t even begin to make sense of her thoughts. She’d hoped that a walk in the snow would have made it easy to decipher what she was running from, like it had so many times in the past weeks, but to no avail. 

Shaking her head once more, the witch sighed deeply as she stuck her hands into her cloak pockets, wrapping it tightly around her as she continued to walk through the blinding snow. 

However blinding and cold the snow was, she still made her way to the little hamlet of Hogsmeade, and down the streets to the doorway of Puddifoot's. Opening the door blasted her with warm air, melting the snow on her clothes and hair, and the Madam came from the back room with a smile on her kind face. A couple eating at a booth and an elder man sitting at the bar with tea service were the only other occupants of the restaurant that night.

“Good evening!" Puddifoot greeted her. "It’s good to have you back, dear. Would you like your usual table?” Hermione nodded as she began to make her way to the table in the corner farthest from her, ignoring the looks of admiration she received from the couple in the booth as she went. 

This was another reason Hermione had enjoyed her time alone. She hadn’t done what she’d done to be a celebrity. She did it to save the poor people who had found themselves on the business end of Voldemort’s hate. Dealing with people staring at her every time she stepped outside of her dorm room bothered her to an extent, because she didn’t feel like she was anything special. 

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “Thank you, Madam Puddifoot.”

“And earl grey with cream?”

“I think I feel up to some chamomile and cream this evening.”

Madam Puddifoot nodded, then asked, “Anything to eat? Soup, or eggnog brulee?”

“I will take both. For here,” the younger witch replied as she took off her cloak and placed it onto the back of her chair, and removed her pack from her shoulder and set it on the chair beside her. She looked up and around the restaurant to find that the couple was still staring at her, the old man at the bar now joining them, and Hermione decided to do something to keep her busy while she ignored them. 

From her pack she pulled out the letter she’d received from her best friends the day before, which she’d read the night prior but had not yet replied to. Unfolding the parchment, she set the two short pieces down onto the table and re-read their contents. By the time she was done, Madam Puddifoot had already delivered her tea and food. So, while simultaneously eating, Hermione Summoned parchment, ink and quill from her pack, so as to begin writing them back.

And, despite knowing that Harry would take the news with an even head, she knew Ron would flip a table if she mentioned she and Draco had been spending time together, so she decided to avoid it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger!Warning: Alcohol use.

When Hermione was finished with her letters to Harry and Ron, the witch decided to also write a letter to her parents, as well as Ginny. By this time, everyone else in the restaurant had left, the Gryffindor began to feel at ease enough to reach out to those she cared for. 

She’d updated her parents on her studies, and how she’d been advancing now that she had time to focus without classes or other students, but she didn't dare tell them about Draco. They knew about Draco. The old Draco. It was more than likely unwise to tell them that she'd been spending time alone with him. They'd worry, and she didn’t want to cause them any more distress.

But Ginny, however, had to be told. The red-haired witch was just as likely to flip a table as her brother, but then she'd set it back on its legs to sit across from Hermione at it and ask eagerly, "So then what happened?" 

Hermione had to get it off of her chest how Draco hadn’t shown her an ounce of malice. How he'd been kind to her, patient with her bad attitude, and all of the things they'd talked about so far. She thought about leaving out "the lap incident”, and the long handshake, but decided that full disclosure was best, that way her best girlfriend could give her some honest feedback and advice. Because, unlike she and Ron, Harry and Ginny were an item that decided to try a long distance relationship despite the eighteen months the men would be away at Auror training in Berlin. Hermiome was hoping Ginny had some kind of boy advice, since the elder Gryffindor had very little in comparison.

"Miss Granger," Madam Puddifoot said from behind the bar, pulling Hermione's eyes from her parchment where she was almost done with Ginny’s letter. "I'll be closing in ten minutes."

The younger witch looked at her watch, and found she'd been there for well over an hour. It was ten to eight, and she said in surprise, "I really lost track of time! Might I get the check, so that I can be on my way?"

"Oh course, dear." Puddifoot turned to the far end of the bar and grabbed the check, then walked to set it on Hermione's table. "Are you walking back, then? Or do you need me to call you a carriage?"

"I'll be walking. A carriage won't be necessary," Hermione denied politely.

Madam Puddifoot nodded with a slight smile, which faded as she said, "I hope I'm not stepping out of line by saying this.” She paused, as if she’d answered her own question, the answer being that she was stepping out of line, but went on anyway. “You do know that you don't always have to be in danger, right, lass? You're safe now. You understand?" 

Hermione looked at the old witch with her jaw loose. She hadn't been expecting these words from the business owner, and it took her a few seconds to grab her bearings and nod, saying, "I… Yes… Thank you."

She didn't know what else to say, because Puddifoot had read her, too. Was she really that obvious? Hermione had only been to Puddifoots a handful of times before winter break. Where had the Madam had time to notice her while in the throng of all of the other students?

Hermione didn’t want to think about it too hard, so she put her pack and cloak on her shoulders, and gave Madam Puddifoot one last small, timid smile before halfway racing out the door. The Gryffindor had not expected, nor did she need, the Madam to say something like that to her. She knew she was safe. She knew she didn’t have to always be in danger. 

But, oftentimes, it’s hard to break habits, no matter how deadly.

As she made her way down main street, Hermione passed the Hog’s Head, and froze mid-step as her head turned to the building. The windows glowed from the candlelight within, through which she may have been able to see silhouettes of patrons through the dirt and grime on the panes. She chewed on her lip, then pivoted on her heel and walked into the warm building, sure to do a good job of hiding her face from the eight or so other patrons in the shadow of her hood as she pulled up to the filthy, sawdust covered bar. 

Hermione searched through her bag for a shiny golden Galleon while Aberforth didn’t pay her any mind. He spent two or three minutes at the end of the bar, finishing a conversation with a man who was in a moderate stage of inebriation, before he gave the man one more pint and walked over to Hermione. 

Recognition hit his face instantly, and he gave her a surprised look under thick, white eyebrows, saying in a voice low enough to be covered by the chatter of the pub, “Miss Granger. I didn’t see you come in. What can I get you?”

‘You don’t always have to be in danger.’ 

Madam Puddifoot’s words rang in her head as she looked up into Aberforth’s blue eyes and said, “Fire whiskey. Neat. Water back on the rocks.”

Abertforth nodded at her with a strange look, and moved to grab a glass that looked semi-clean and set it upon the bar before her. Then he reached behind him, and without taking his eyes from her, he grabbed a random brand of whiskey and poured two fingers worth of brown liquid into the bottom. Hermione put the Galleon in her hand down next to the glass, which she grabbed up, drank the contents of in one gulp, and set the glass back down. 

“One more for the road, please, Aberforth,” she said to him. He nodded, poured three fingers of whiskey in the bottom. As she took it, a burning in her stomach and tremble in her bones from the strength, Aberforth set a glass of water down, then turned to put the bottle back on the shelf before he walked down to the opposite end of the bar to scratch behind the ears of a large, white cat. 

His blue eyes were stuck on the witch, showing brightly with concern, his lips stuck in a small, sad frown.


	18. Chapter 18

“Come down and waste away with me. Down with me,” Hermione sang loudly into the blizzard as she walked back to the school. “Slow, how you wanted it to be. I'm over my head, out of her head. She sang. Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na-nah!”

Hermione performed a dance, as best she could in knee-deep snow, to the beat within her head. She’d only had one more drink at Aberforth’s- making it three total- before drinking a glass of water down and leaving the bar. Now, about halfway through her walk, almost fifteen minutes later, the Gryffindor witch was playing the air drums to the Foo Fighters on her hike back to the school. 

The witch hadn’t had that much to drink at one time since she’d been in Australia. She’d learned quite a bit about liquor while being down under. It had been winter, after all, so drinking and walking on the bleak, grey beaches was something that some people did to pass the time those days. It had been grey the day she’d spotted her parents on the boardwalk, but they’d been bright, like a lighthouse calling her home from sea.

“And I wonder, when I sing along with you, if everything could ever feel this real forever.” She played the air drums, stumbling from the effort, but keeping her footing. “If anything could ever be this good again.” More air drums. “The only thing I'll ever ask of you, you've got to promise not to stop when I say when. She sang.”

The war heroine wasn’t paying much mind to where she was going. She was trapped in her head, in memories and music, and did not notice that she’d strayed from the trail she would have otherwise been able to follow just fine, even with the ludicrous amount of snow and drifts. 

She was thinking about things she shouldn’t have, as all people do who find themselves alone after drinking too much: Hogwarts, further education, adoring schoolmates who stared in awe while asking for her autograph; Voldemort, Dark Marks, and the Death Eaters that were still out there; Harry and Ron training to capture the rest of the Death Eaters; Harry and Ginny being able to have a relationship after everything, while she’d been unable to commit to Ron right away. She wondered, randomly, if she should have ordered soup to go so she could eat it later in her room. Then she was back to her deeper thoughts, such as her parents’ understanding while she continued to be selfish and separate herself from them, and how she’d have them over for weekend holidays after she grew warts, a crooked nose, and bought a cozy cottage to live stereotypically. 

Then she was back to thinking of Draco.

With a great sigh, Hermione’s imaginary drum kit disappeared and her shoulders slumped some while her mind’s eyes showed her Draco’s grey ones, and how soft and kind they'd been that day. Her mind filled with him saying, "My respect for you was strongest, and had come first." 

She rolled her eyes at the feeling of her heart parttering, and she tried like hell to think of anything but. However, it took about ten seconds for her mind to go back to the Slytherin, and the feeling of his hand on her low back as she'd settled in his lap. Then she thought of the other hand, holding onto her own as they'd reluctantly part ways.

"What am I going to do?" She asked, snow entering her mouth as she continued to talk to herself, but she still wasn't paying any attention. "What am I doing? Thinking about Malfoy like this?... At least I'm not thinking of him naked."

Then, all of a sudden, she was. Her mind was brimming with images of shirtless Draco, then Draco in dark grey boxers. Next came the image of him with nothing on at all, his nice arse on display. Then she was imagining herself wearing nothing at all, and then they were together, kissing one another deeply; the witch on the edge of the library table they'd first studied at, her legs around his waist, his hands in her hair, her hands holding onto his forearms as he moved in and out of her.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Hermione exclaimed as her brain played a dirty movie, while also tripping over what felt like a large rock hiding under two feet of snow, which caused her to fall over in the powder.

She could not believe she thought about him in such a way, but was endlessly grateful of the snow storm as the frozen blanket began to cool her hot body. Liquor and arousal were the devil when combined. The witch was sure she was making a Hermione-shaped steam imprint in the ice and grass below. Like in the cartoons when Wile E Coyote would fall off of a cliff and make it through two or three feet of the earth's surface. 

Hermione was Wile E Coyote. She'd run off a cliff of sorts herself. Headlong, if one considered that she was imagining she and Draco starkers and shagging, when two days ago she'd been considering punching him and leaving their reunion at that.

She blinked up at the sky as the snow continued to fall, the fresh flakes melting on her lashes and cheeks, five or more minutes passing before she began to feel the cold seep in through her clothes. When the fabrics grew damp, she grabbed her wand from her cloak pocket and cast first a drying then warming charm on herself, then placed the bit of wood in her boot so that she could get back on her feet and start walking towards the school once more.

Brown eyes looked about, and saw the faint tracks of her journey behind her, being quickly erased by wind and fresh layers of snow. Then she looked ahead of her, then to her right and left, only for a frown to reach her lips as doubt touched her heart.

"Where the fuck am I?" She asked the blizzard, to which it gave no answer.


	19. Chapter 19

"Oh, no," she said, becoming disappointed in herself the longer she thought on her situation.

Hermione tentatively began to take steps in the direction she thought the school might lie, only to stop after ten or so. She wasn't sure of her heading, and she didn't want to make it worse by walking further.

"Think, girl, think! You're not that drunk anymore," she told herself, even though she was still pretty tipsy, before giving a small whine and adding, "I have to pee." The witch then took hold of her wand, grabbing it from her boot to cast, "Ventus!" 

The powdery top layers of snow, for about three meters ahead of her, were quickly blown away. The witch then cast a Lumos and stuck her wand into the ice in the clearing she’d made, adjusted her cloak and pack, squated, and relieved herself.

When that chore was done, she grabbed her wand and cleaned herself, and situated her effects to their original place. She then began to check the ground for any trace of the dirt path to the school. After casting a few more Ventus' and a couple of heated Aguamentis to melt the snow, which only revealed grass, she deduced she'd strayed much farther from the beaten path than she originally assumed.

The woman didn't panic anymore than when she had initially done so, because she was fine. She'd been in so much real danger for so long that this was nothing in comparison. (“You don’t always have to be in danger.”) If she felt her efforts were truly hopeless, she could conjure a tent and reinforce and heat it with magic until the morning came and she had enough light to figure out where she was. But that was a last resort.

For a moment she began to regret that she still had not mastered how to send messages through her Patronus, because she would have sent one to Draco. But that would have been an even last last resort. She didn’t trust herself alone with him at the moment, especially after explicit thoughts.

The witch then decided she would first walk all about the grounds before she pitched a tent, so that was what she did. She cast a Point Me, moving north through the snow, only blowing it out of her way when she'd hit drifts that reached her waist. After twenty minutes of this, and still not reaching the castle, she cast a new Lumos and looked about. 

All she could see was the thick flakes hitting drifts, and blackness beyond that.

She sighed, then cast a Nox.

However, in the distance to her far right, she saw what she thought was a Lumos, moving swiftly in her direction some feet above the snow. In thirty seconds, Draco appeared, riding his broom and wearing a look of panic and concern on his face.

"Granger! Thank Merlin's beard I found you. Are you alright?" He asked her, and she could only look up at him with a smile.

"I am. Thank you… How did you know I was out here?" She asked.

"Get on the broom first, then I'll tell you," he answered, and she nodded. With plenty of his help, she was pulled up onto his broom, sitting in between his thighs. His arms moved around her, holding her inebriated self locked in. He reached forward, causing his chest to be pushed against her back as he gripped the broom between her legs to control it into turning swiftly, heading back in what she assumed was the direction of the school.

In her ear, he called over the wind and snow, "Madam Puddifoot owled me over an hour ago, now. She said you were on your way back, and for me to make sure you returned safely."

Hermione was surprised, and then again she wasn't, because the elderly witch was always so concerned with Hermione's well-being. She adjusted to turn her head just enough to ask over the rushing wind, "How did she know to owl you?"

"I told her that first night at the restaurant, when we were both there, that I was returning to school for the term," he called back.

She nodded. "That makes sense," she mused, mostly to herself. She then spoke up, turning around some to say, "Thank you for coming to find me."

He leaned farther forward, his warm chest becoming flush with her back, which she leaned back against subconsciously, and he said into her ear, "It's my pleasure, Granger. Besides," he added, "you smell like whiskey. I'm beginning to think it all worked out for the best."

As his words ended, Hermione made out the glow of the large sconces at the entryway of the castle, and Draco made it through the open entryway quickly, putting them down with ease before shrinking his broom and putting it in his pocket, all with one smooth motion. 

"I would have been fine, you know," she told him, and he nodded as he began to remove the snow from their cloaks with magic, the wizard having replace his blazer with something more traditional for his trip into the snow.

"I know, Granger," he said, a smile playing on his lips at her stubborn words. "But I wasn't willing to risk it. Once I used a Revelio and found nothing, and after realizing it had been an hour since you left the restaurant and still hadn’t returned I figured you could use some help. Why don't you use a Tethering charm?"

"Tonight would have been the first time in which I needed one," was her answer. He raised a brow at her, and she found herself biting her lip at his intense stare. "I… I think it was the whiskey. I've never gotten lost on that walk before."

"We’re both thinking the same thing, then," he said. "It must have been quite a bit of whiskey if I of all people needed to save you."

She frowned up at him, replying, "I don't need saving."

He smirked, further amused by her, answering, "I believe that entirely. I do. But I wouldn’t have felt right if I had left you out there. Everyone needs saving from time to time. I recall when, not long ago, you helped save everyone on the planet. It just so happened that it was your turn to be saved, and I just so happened to be the wizard for the job." 

"Well aren't you lucky," Hermione retorted with sass, crossing her arms under her breasts as she placed her weight to one side.

His smirk disappeared and turned into a genuine smile as he said, "I do consider myself lucky to have had the privilege of saving you, Hermione." 

He reached up slowly, his fingers taking a loose curl and tucking it behind her left ear. Her breath caught at the touch, but she found she leaned into him instead of pulling away, and he must have noticed this action, because it was happening again. Either she was leaning in, or he was, or they both were, but all she knew was that their were suddenly a few inches apart; the tall wizard leaning down, her face titling up with the assistance of his hand, which had moved from her hair to cup her chin. 

Their eyes were locked, and Hermione had stopped breathing, and her heart was trying to burst from her chest as he closed the gap… leaving a short kiss on her temple before pulling away, leaving the witch to look up at him in confusion.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said out of the blue. "I'm going to owl Madam Puddifoot and inform her I found you. I trust you can make it to your dorm without assistance." 

He then walked past her, towards the stairs to the dungeons, and she stared after him, dumbfounded, before whispering to herself, "What in the hell was that?"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

By the time Hermione made it back to her dorm, she was both happy and mortified that Draco had found her. 

She was happy because she’d been able to see him one more time that day, and she’d also gotten to harass him a bit. It made him smile, or pull that smirk that made her feel either one of two ways: attracted and intrigued, or annoyed and angry. It had been the former in this case. She was also happy that she hadn’t needed to conjure a tent and sleep in the snow.

But she was later mortified that she’d most definitely been drunk, which caused the witch to initially wave her hand at Draco's retreating back in indifference, vowing she was fine with it all. ‘It’s just Draco sodding Malfoy,’ she’d thought, knowing the man had always been a bit of a fence sitter. But the witch was mortified further when she later thought about how the entire trip up the maze of moving and vanishing stairs was spent bopping and shaking her butt while singing, “Blood sugar baby, she's magik, sex magik. Sex magik.”

All of this- feeling unfazed, singing one of her favorite songs, and feeling like she’d had a bit of an adventure- to end up walking into her room, dropping her pack and cloak on the floor, which was unlike her, and stiffening before falling face-first onto the crimson red comforter that festooned her queen-sized bed.

It was like the two little bounces from her belly flop reset her brain, because she groaned in humiliation the second she settled, her fuzzy mind playing what it could clearly recall from her encounter with the Slytherin. She seemed to focus most often on the moment when he'd gone from being entranced by her, to when his eyes seemed to sober up, his lips so close to being on her own.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t at least somehow satisfied by the kiss to her head, but what had happened? Did her breath smell? Worse than whiskey smell? She didn't have to try to smell her own breath, because all she could smell was whiskey, what with lying there face down in her bed. She frowned again and rolled onto her back, staring up at the stone ceiling while having an existential debate. It didn't last too long, though, before she stood up and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower and brush her teeth, only to pass out with wet hair and her towel when she laid down on her bed afterward.

When she awoke in the middle of the night, it was to feel nauseous and dehydrated, forced to cast an Accio to to retrieve her wand from the floor, then conjured two glasses of water. She almost fell right back to sleep after consuming both, only to have to get out of bed to throw the water up. She conjured one more glass of the cool liquid, took a couple of sips, and went back to sleep.

She then awoke before dawn, and spent the day in bed nursing her hangover by drinking water and consuming junk snacks she'd brought with her to school. They’d stayed fresh in her trunk, and she was thrilled when she remembered their existence. The muscles in her legs and hips were sore enough that she had to grab her expanded beaded bag and go looking through it for a pain-relieving draught. There hadn’t been a Sober-Up, though, so she didn’t trust herself walking all the way down to the dungeon to get her breakfast.

Besides. The likelihood of her seeing Draco wasn’t necessarily slim. All she knew was that she wasn’t sure if the two should talk right away after last night, because even though he hadn’t kissed her lips, he’d kissed her face, and that seemed so much more intimate; it felt like it meant more than most other acts. Sitting on his lap, or holding his hand, or him holding her to his chest while they flew through the blizzard all seemed trivial when it came to the sign of affection, and she found herself covering her face with her hands as she thought about what something like that could mean.

He respected her and admired her, and the kiss had confirmed one thing she’d been wondering about since his admitting his feelings: he fancied her. His respect and admiration had, at one point, turned to fancy, and the witch wasn’t sure she could handle that thought at the moment. There was so much weight to that truth; it was heavy, and she was forced to sit in her room and think about what that meant to the near future.

If one were to add on the way she'd been reacting to him, she was sure he was aware that she had begun to fancy him back. 

"Oh, bugger," she swore, thinking of the smile she'd given him when he'd flown up to her in the snow.

If that wasn't proof enough that she hadn't minded the idea of him kissing her, she didn't know what was. Then she’d remember the silly things she said to him and roll her eyes once more, resting her face in her palm as she shook her head in shame. 

After many hours over-evaluating the facts, as was typical of the witch, she decided to finish her letter to Ginny. She added the new details that had occurred since Madam Puddifoot had paused her train of thought the night before, and even though it had been half past ten at night, she finally felt good enough to walk to the owlry.


	21. Chapter 21

Hermione awoke before dawn the next day as well. She lay in bed looking at the ceiling of her room, sighing as the image of Draco’s smiling face crept into her foggy mind before anything else.

She’d fallen asleep thinking of him, and she’d woken up thinking of him. 

The witch didn’t know what to do, even still, in regards to the blonde. Did she go find him and force the two to have a conversation about what was happening between them? Or did she wait for him to find her? For them to run into each other? She wasn’t sure how to handle such things, but she decided that she’d let fate take its course. The two had run into each other plenty of times already, so it was likely it would happen again. 

After showering and collecting her things, Hermione walked down in the dim, grey light of a snowy daybreak to the kitchens to get her first real meal in over twenty-four hours. When she arrived she noted the two plates, and bit her lip as she thought about the prospect of Draco making it for breakfast in the near future. She had decided to let fate handle it, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't sit there for an hour longer than she would have, giving fate all of the extra chances it needed.

He never came, though, and she admitted defeat in this by walking up to the library with slow steps. She was trapped in her mind, again, and didn't even realize she'd been made it to her destination until she found herself in the back corner where they'd practiced two days prior, only she was sitting in the green chair instead of the red.

She didn't change spots, but instead settled in and grabbed her advanced Care of Magical Creatures textbook from her bag- one that wouldn't bite her, though that edition did exist- and she was able to read for the better part of an hour before she heard a beak at the window. 

The sound startled her, and she stared at the barn owl that tapped at the glass before her for a second before getting out of her chair and opening the window. The owl swooped in, dropped the letter on her chair, and flew right back out of the window. Hermione watched it go, its large wings disturbing the snowfall in its wake, and she closed the window before moving to her chair and looking down at the letter. 

It was from Ginny, and the envelope looked like it contained a letter made up of multiple pages of parchment. 

With a bit of excitement, the witch tore the letter open while sitting down, and opened the three-page letter and began to read the first page, which was taken up by fifteen large-print, all caps words. "WHO IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU-" Hermione had to turn the paper over to finish the note on the back. "-AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HERMIONE GRANGER?"

Hermione had expected as much. This was the proverbial flipping of the table.

Then she began to read the rest. A whole page of Ginny speculating how Hermione could be ok with talking to him, and being sure to ask if she thought she was under some kind of spell or potion. She asked how Hermione could be ok with spending time with Draco, and if she thought she'd been under an imperious to stomach eating meals with him. Next she asked how Hermione could live with herself for allowing Draco to touch her without breaking some of his fingers. She asked, yet again, if she thought she was under the influence of anything nefarious, before offering to come to the school and check up on the elder witch herself.

She finally asked if she thought Draco could be under the influence of something nefarious to act in such a way, only to add, "Even though he'd be an idiot not to fancy you. You're gorgeous, wicked smart, and any bloke you look at should treat you as an all knowing Goddess. Especially Draco fucking Malfoy."

Hermione smiled at her friend's words, then moved onto the last piece of parchment, reading aloud, "Now after thinking about all of this, I do believe that he could be being honest about all of this. He always held a special place in his heart for harassing and berating you. Some men are idiot enough to think that making fun of a girl is a surefire way of letting her know he likes her. Malfoy never looked at any girl as often as he did you, and I only noticed this because I always thought I'd catch him pulling his wand on you when your back was turned and I'd have an excuse to hex his stupid face off.

"He never did, though. He just stared. And if you think he started fancying you before sixth year, then this might be why he was staring. He could have been plotting on how such a low-life ferret such as himself could win the heart of someone so much better than him. And you could be right, that him being imprisoned could have knocked sense into him and made him want to show you that he likes you, since life gave him a second chance. 

"It really would be nice if he decided to be kinder, considering I'll be there next week and life has seen to it that I'm less tolerant. It will work out in his favor if he's genuinely a better person. If prison wasn't going to work on him, then nothing would have, I'm guessing. 

"Please be careful, 'Mione. I know you're smart and capable, but I do worry about this. However, if you can say that, without a doubt, you aren't being poisoned or having spells cast on you, and you really do think that Malfoy has changed his ways, then say you should at least see where it goes for now. I'm not saying to ride off into the sunset with him, but spend more time with him to see if he's actually changed. Only time will tell.

"And don't let his new ear piercing trick you! He might have always been handsome, but some months ago we considered him one of the ugliest human beings because of his behavior. Don't forget that.

"With all of my love, Gin.

"P.S. Don't tell Ron or Harry. Harry might not react as strongly, but Ron would flip a table."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the last few chapters! I'm taking my time setting it up so it's just right. Don't worry. The moments we have all been waiting for are coming.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, thinking about the things that Ginny had written. She was glad that she hadn’t even had to have the “don’t tell the boys” talk with the younger Gryffindor. She figured she wouldn't have to. They both knew how Ron would react, and a “Ron Reaction” could be quite a thing. 

The witch looked down at the paragraph where Ginny had claimed that she’d caught Draco staring at Hermione years ago, and she felt her brows knit together as she thought about any times she may have seen the same thing. She couldn’t recall, because she was pretty sure she did all she could to ignore him, especially during sixth year when Harry was adimate about Draco’s dark affiliations. He had been right in the end, as he almost always was about things like that, but she had gone out of her way to pretend Draco didn’t exist so as not to exacerbate the situation.

If Ginny's speculations were correct, then that meant Hermione had to think about what she wanted from her new relationship with Draco; a platonic friendship, or continue down the course they were heading down. They had almost kissed, and Hermione had wanted it, but had she wanted more than that? She and Ron had pussyfooted around the bush for years with their feelings, and that had led to the two of them not being sure if being together was the best option. If they'd really wanted it, they would have admitted their feelings sooner, because they would have been sure.

It was too early to know if she was sure that a relationship more than friendship with Draco was wise… However, she couldn't deny that if the Slytherin were to kiss her she wouldn't be able to stop him. But then what? They snog? They date? Shag? If Draco truly did fancy her as much as he seemed to, it was likely he already wanted those things, and it wouldn't be right if she played with his emotions.

She may have wanted to hurt him two days past, but she wouldn't want to hurt him in that way.

Hermione had to be careful, so for many hours she sat in the high-backed Slytherin chair, looking out the window as she thought about everything yet again. And no matter where her mind would take her, it would always go back to Draco flashing his perfect grin at her as they'd practiced Protegos; of his Lumos-lit eyes filled with concern as he'd flown up to her on his broom in the blizzard; the feeling of his hand on her chin as he'd looked at her with longing.

When lunch came, she made her way back to the kitchens. There were plates sitting on the counter by the door, and she grabbed one before sitting at a table, and just as it had gone that morning, Draco never showed, not even after the witch waited until half past two. 

This was where the doubt began to sink in.

Had she angered him in some way? She was sure that wasn't possible, unless he was mad that he'd had to save her. But, even that seemed unlikely, because she knew he'd meant it when he told her he had been lucky to have the privilege to save her.

So what else could it be?

Had she pushed him away? Though she didn't get that one either. She hadn't pulled away from the kiss and she'd leaned into him happily while they'd been on his broom. Other than her harassing him some, she hadn't shown any signs of disliking his attention, and even that behavior didn’t read as her wanting him to leave her alone.

Her other option, and this was the most likely, was that she was overreacting. He could have been sleeping in. He had mentioned struggling with sleep since he had arrived, so it was possible he was still in bed. Besides, she hadn't gone down for meals the day before, perhaps even leaving him in a similar state of confusion, though she knew the man was intelligent enough to connect the dots as to why that was.

“You're overreacting, Granger," she concluded aloud. With this, she stood from the table, grabbed her pack, and left the kitchens to go back to her dorm to finish studying.

When she entered her room, she put her things on the bed and moved to her record collection. She flicked her wand, sending the Red Hot Chili Pepper album back to its rightful place, then began to thumb through a few choices before settling on one, pulling it from its spot atop her dresser, removing it from its sleeve, and placing it on the platter. She moved the arm and set the needle down on the vinyl before pressing play. 

Studying then commenced, the witch laying out on her bed while reading her CoMC text, singing, "Time is never time at all. You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth. And our lives are forever changed, we will never be the same."

Four songs played before she got interrupted by beak taps pulled her from her textbook. Her eyes turned to the window and saw a familiar school owl standing on the sill outside the glass, and she got up to let it in. It stayed long enough to get a treat before taking off, and the witch opened the letter from her parents.

She read the contents quickly, the couple sounding happy to have heard from her, asking if she'd be coming home for Easter holiday. The witch remembered how she'd spent Easter the year before, then shook her head of the memory before deciding she should do so, so she could start replacing all of her darker memories with good ones. 

The letter was left on her bed to be replied to when she got back from dinner, which she spent exactly as she had the other two meals of the day: alone. She’d taken one last look at Draco’s plate before she exited the kitchen, and heaved a deep sigh of disappointment and worry.

Her doubt was back once again, and she began second-guessing herself and her actions.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, good Lord! I posted this chapter this morning after only reading through it once, and that was a terrible, terrible, terrible mistake. The typos were out of control. Here's to hoping I fixed a large amount of them. I apologize to the readers who read the original version of this chap.

The sun was up when Hermione awoke that clear Friday morning. The clouds were gone, and the sky was blue, and every time she looked out of the windows she was blinded by the sun’s reflection on the powdery snow. 

Showering was quick. Dressing and accumulating her things went off without a hitch, and all while she thought on Draco and what she’d concluded to do about their situation after vivid dreams. 

Some parts of the dreams were explicit; the two wrapped in each other’s arms while in her bed, or the few seconds that she’d been straddling his lap, riding him in the Slytherin chair in the back of the library. But she did her best to ignore these parts and instead decided to focus on the part that felt more real than some of her days floating around the castle had felt.

It was summer. The weather was extra hot, the witch wearing shorts and a tank top, so it could have been as late as August. She was in a garden that was large in comparison to the small cottage it sat behind; working the earth with her hands, readying it for seeds while a magicked watering can floated about and watered the plants that were already growing. A sound caught her attention, and she looked up from the ground and through the open back door where she saw Draco setting a record on the player while he cooked lunch on the range. 

Nirvana began to play as he walked back to his project at the stove, and she smiled fondly as she turned back to work. 

Hermione had awoken lighter than she had in what felt like ages, and she readied for the day with a smile on her lips, because she was going to tell Draco that she enjoyed his company, and she didn’t want to stop spending time with him. Not seeing him for two days felt empty without their banter and studying, and she hadn’t been ready for it to end. So much so that she dreamed of their being in a long-term relationship. Something about the cottage part of her dream seemed like the two had been dwelling there together for years at that point, and dream Hermiome had been so happy for it, conscious Hermione felt it.

Down the stairs she went, her mind set on making it to the kitchens. She’d brought all of her text books, six rolls of parchment, and a large bottle of ink, sure to be ready to sit in wait for him all day if she had to. 

When she’d reached the third level, she could swear she heard the jingle of bridles and reins- the imperfectly timed clop of hooves, as if horses were made to stand impatiently in one place- drifting up from the ground level below. Then the sound of a familiar voice reached her ears and Hermione’s eyes grew wide as realization hit her.

The sound of the hooves were set into perfectly synced motion, and she herself took off into a sprint that had her down the stairs at the grand entrance in record time, only to watch a black carriage bob around the corner of the courtyard exit and out of sight. 

She groaned, because it had been Draco’s voice that she’d heard, and she knew in her heart he had climbed into the carriage and left. To be sure, she grabbed her wand to cast a Homenum Revelio, which found no one, and the witch sighed in defeat, deciding that attempting to stop him was a level of desperation she wasn't going to lower herself to, just like when she decided not to owl him.She told herself that he'd gone to Hogsmeade and would be back later, and she went about her day as she normally would; her face stuffed in books. The only new development was that she'd taken to sitting in the green chair in the back of the library as opposed to the crimson one.

Eleven o'clock that evening chimed on her watch, the late hour finding the Gryffindor high up in her tower, sitting on the sill of the open window that overlooked the grounds all the way to Hogsmeade. She’d been like that for an hour or two, reading as she hoped to catch a glimpse of his carriage coming up the moonlit path. But it never came. 

For the rest of the night, after she'd left her post and gotten into bed, she convinced herself that she had pushed him away. The longer she spent waiting for him to return the more sure she was of her conclusion, it being that he had decided to throw in the towel and leave the school after all, figuring it was best.

He'd told her that one of his two conditions for staying was that they got along. She knew that if she'd been the one who'd gone to kiss him, then walked away at the let second, and then he didn't talk to her for days, she'd think the worse also. The witch had let fate take its course, and this was the result.

When Saturday morning broke, Hermione decided to do her best not to think of him. That damn perfect dream had gotten her hopes up, she knew it. The images from her subconscious state had shown her something she hadn't been aware she'd wanted. But now that she knew that about herself, it sat in the recesses of her mind; popping up from time to time to plague her while she tried to focus on the different strength levels of wormwood that were spliced with hemlock in her Advanced Herbology text.

But their new relationship, whether romantic or platonic, wasn't meant to happen, and this was only solidified in her mind as the blizzard- and not Draco- returned at dinnertime Saturday. This was when Hermione decided that a mind-clearing walk to Hogsmeade was in order.

She left her book bag in her room after going back to her dorm to change, adding a dark grey jumper to her ensemble instead of wearing only her Weezer t-shirt out into the storm. The witch also changed out of her house slippers and put on her boots, leaving them in their original state. Either the school's magic or the man who owned the livery had cleared the road to Hogsmeade to assist Draco's carriage, so she didn't need to worry about losing her sense of direction or trudging through hip-high snow drifts.

The walk was a quick one, the witch singing "My Name Is Jonas" as she went, making it to the restaurant in no time at all. Her eyes avoided the pubs as her stomach jumped from the memories of vomiting in the darkness of her loo only a couple of nights previous.

She turned the corner and saw the warm pink glow emitting from the storefront she'd grown so fond of. The sight of it quickened her step, only for the witch to freeze where she stood as she passed by Draco, the man sitting alone at one of the window booths of Puddifoot's, his face in a brand new copy of their Charms text.


	24. Chapter 24

Draco must have noticed the sudden movement outside the window, because the second she halted he looked up at her, a small and happy smile hitting his features. She couldn’t help but return it, and with a small hand gesture he motioned for her to sit across from him in the booth, the man seeming to have already eaten and was now working on his tea.

She nodded at him once, smile still in place, and Hermione took in a deep, stabilizing breath as she entered the building and walked down to the blonde’s table, her heart beating ever harder against her ribcage the closer she got to him. It was odd for her to enter the restaurant and not wait for Madam Puddifoot to seat her, but it hardly crossed her mind as she stood at the end of the table Draco occupied. 

He smiled up at her at her arrival, even as he greeted, "Good evening. Care to join me?” He offered, verbally this time, while nodding his head to the empty bench across from him.

“I would,” she answered, removing her cloak and setting it on the bench beside her as she scooted into the booth. As she settled, she looked pointedly at the Charms text, asking, “New book?”

“Ah. Yes. I figured that I should buy my own books since term starts on Thursday. I’ve actually had a strange few days.” He gave her an especially pointed look as he said, “One of which you may have already heard about.”

With a raised brow of confusion, Hermione answered, “I’m going to be honest and say I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven’t seen you in just as many days.” Hermione paused here, then said, “I’m going to go further and admit that I wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

She regretted the words as soon as she said them, her eyes daring to drop to the tabletop for a moment before looking back to him. His eyes showed nothing but surprised as he said, “Why would you think that?”

“No reason, really,” she replied quickly, not wanting to admit that she’d put herself through an emotional ringer playing out all of the scenarios in her mind for days on end. The witch switched the subject by asking, “So what happened that you think I should already know about?”

“Well… After I found you in the storm-” he cleared his throat here as his gaze faltered for a second. She didn’t blame him, for she’d barely staved off doing the same thing at him even alluding to what had happened after he found her. He went on, “-I couldn’t sleep, so I decided I would go to the Manor at three in the morning to finish tying up some loose ends. I went to Tenarcha to see my mother this morning. But it was yesterday, after I’d come back to the school to grab my vault key, one I’d forgotten here and that is spelled to be unSummonable, that I was in Diagon where I was roughly pushed into an alley and nearly accosted by one Ginevra Weasley. Or, at the very least, accused of tampering with your mind by one Ginevra Weasley.” 

Hermione managed larger eyes as he told her this, and her jaw dropped as she asked in disbelief, “What? Are you serious?”

He gave her a slow and amused smirk as he said, “I swear on Merlin’s sequined knickers that I-” 

“It’s good to see you well, Miss Granger,” Puddifoot said out of nowhere, seeming to silently apparate at the end of the table while simultaneously cutting Draco off. The elder witch smiled down at the two, asking, “Can I get you some tea, dear? I also made some broth last night.”

Hermione nodded, trying to school her features into ones that didn’t look like she’d just been hit by the Knight Bus. “Yes. Thank you. And I also want to thank you for owling Draco the other night.”

“It was my pleasure, lass. I’m just glad he found ye,” she replied with a grin. “I’ll be back with yer food shortly.” Then she walked away, leaving the two students to their previous conversation. 

When Puddifoot was out of earshot, Hermione’s gaze snapped back to Draco as she asked, “What did Ginny say to you?”

He looked to be stifling a grin, and licked his lips before saying, “Uh… Eh…” He scratched his temple with a single digit, then blurted, “She thinks I have you under an Imperious Curse, forcing you to spend time with me, while also telling you to write her letters about how much you like spending time with me. She thinks I made you correspond with her so it wouldn’t look suspicious when she comes back to school next week to “learn we’re shagging”.” 

Hermione made a noise that even she could admit sounded like a slowly dying animal.

This gave the platinum prat, who held a smirk that deepened as her expression became more exaggerated from her horror, time to ask, “I understand my reputation precedes me, Hermione, but what on earth did you write her in those letters that caused her to Muggle handle me in an alley? She could have killed me.”

Another noise escaped Hermione’s throat, as if she were unable to breathe, and a deep blush raced from her chest to her forehead in a matter of seconds.

In that moment, Madam Puddifoot magically served Hermione her food and tea, and the witch was happy to have a place to keep her eyes as she managed, “It wasn’t anything of importance, really. Ginny tends to blow things out of proportion. She’s much like Ron in that way.”

The witch began to serve herself some tea, and all Draco said was, “I suppose so.”

After this, Draco went back to his book while he left Hermione to her food. But this caused the silence to be deafening, and the witch was so uncomfortable that she had to sing to distract herself, “Come sit next to me, pour yourself some tea, just like grandma made when we couldn't find sleep. Things were better then, once but never again. We've all left the den, let me tell you 'bout it.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so many encouraging reviews yesterday that I have barely been able to stop writing. I'd like to thank my reviewers for their support with another chapter.

Hermione had written Ginny back almost immediately, assuring the younger witch that there was no way she could be under an Imperious, but she should have known her old friend wouldn't have been satisfied with that. She wondered how Draco had made it out of that alley with his life, but she didn't want to draw any more attention to his last question. She would rather get lost in a blizzard and die before detailing the letter she had sent to the other Gryffindor witch. 

Instead, Hermione resolved to writing Ginny later that night to ask her what the hell she'd been thinking, as well as what had kept the fiery red-head from cursing Draco to death. He must have said something that held merit, or the two wouldn't be sitting at Puddifoot's sharing an uncomfortable silence; one she planned on ending.

"May I ask," she began when her soup was half gone, "how your mother is fairing?" 

Hermione hadn't been a supporter of Narcissa Malfoy's sentence. She'd been over the moon about Lucius, no doubt, but she had felt the Malfoy matriarch had done just enough to have found herself on house arrest instead of five years in prison. The brunette felt that the Wizarding World owed Narcissa something more for her cunning and courage, but the gavel had already dropped, and life was seldom fair. But Hermione did reckon that the woman could have gotten fifteen years as well, so there was also that.

Draco's grey eyes moved up from his book and bore into Hermione's as he answered, "As well as one can hope, given her situation. If all goes well, she has two and a half years before they consider early release, a blessing my father was not given. Knowing my mother, she will keep to herself and be out of there sooner rather than later."

"I hope so," Hermione said before dropping her eyes to her soup. 

Looking at him for too long was making her dizzy. 

"You do?" He asked, his voice sounding surprised.

"I do," she answered curtly. "I didn't agree with her sentence."

"Hm…" He hummed, and a moment ticked by before he asked, "And my father's sentence?"

She looked at him, her Gryffindor showing as she said, "May he spend all fifteen years in there."

The blonde's face became gravely serious as he nodded, saying, "May he rot."

"Cheers," Hermione agreed, lifting her tea cup and taking a sip. He grabbed his own cup and raised it before drinking as well.

The air was awkward again. The witch had suspected Draco wasn't too big a fan of his father these days, and she had to admit that she found some comfort in knowing the younger Malfoy was done standing behind all of his Lucius' horrid decisions, but it was still unfortunate the number of lives and relationships the war had ruined.

Nothing else was said again until Hermione finished her soup, wherein she asked, "You're going back to the school tonight I take it?"

"Indeed I am. I've had enough of the Manor to last a lifetime."

She nodded at this, sure she'd share his sentiment after spending five minutes in the old mansion, and she reached into her jeans pocket to grab the money she needed to pay for her food, setting it down on the table near her now empty bowl.

"I have already ordered a carriage," he went on. "I know you enjoy walking, but may I offer you a lift back to the castle?"

She bit her lip for a second before nodding. "Yes. I'll take you up on that."

Hermione, though she'd been too embarrassed to tell Draco what her letter to Ginny contained, still wanted to tell him that she enjoyed his company and didn't want it to end. But she didn't want to do so at Madam Puddifoot's, and figured a carriage ride was as good an option as any place that didn't have prying ears and eyes. 

The odd pair had already ignored the wide-eyed stare of an old woman who had recognised the both of them during her own meal. And though they were the only patrons left, Hermione still didn't feel like confessing to her feelings in Puddifoot's sickly pink restaurant.

As they made to leave said restaurant, the Madam was sure to inform them that the shop would be closed the next evening, for she would be celebrating the new year with friends. 

The two nodded, and left with pleasant goodbyes and thanks, making it out the door as Hermione said, "I can't believe tomorrow is New Year's Eve."

"Time flies, eh, Granger?" He asked, the two setting off down the cobbles as he took his black leather gloves from his cloak pocket and pulled them onto his hands.

She inhaled deeply before saying, "You can call me Hermione, you know. You do so half the time already."

"Picked up on that, did you?"

"Immediately."

"I should have figured. But you know that means you can call me 'Draco'." 

"Now why on earth would I do that?" She asked, a smile spreading across her face.

"Because that's what friends do, isn't it?" He answered her question with a question. "I'd consider us something closer to friends than acquaintances at this point."

"You would?" She asked this as they reached the main road, and she looked over to see him nod.

"Of course," he said easily, but seemed to have an internal struggle while asking, "Don't you?"

She stopped walking at this question, because she told herself that this was it. This was the opening she needed to tell him the truth of what she felt, but it was like he knew what she was going to say, because he cut her off, saying, "You don't have to decide right now. We don't need to be friends, or anything of the sort, if you aren't looking to be so. I know I pushed myself into your world this past week, so I could understand if you need more time to decide if you want to keep talking to me when classes start again.

"Just know that," he paused, looking around in the falling snow as if he'd find words there, "I am grateful for the time you have given me. I've wanted to… to tell you that- um… That I have thought very highly of you for some time, and that the opportunities you've given me to treat you better since I arrived have been more than I could have asked for. Which is exactly what I told Ginny, and why I still have my life."

The witch was almost struck speechless at his confession, and may have stayed silent if she hadn't already decided to say, "I'd like to be your friend, Draco. I was going to tell you so before you left yesterday, but didn't make it downstairs in time. I was also going to ask if you'd, perhaps, like to spend New Year's Eve… with me?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may know, I had a baby about six weeks ago. But I had some complications. My baby is fine, healthy and chunky and beautiful, but I had a rough go at it. I had a 24 hr labor, followed by a c-section (I've never had a surgery before. Yikes!), followed by an infection, followed by two eclamptic seizures, a trip to the ER I can't even remember, and a hospital stay. It took it out of me in more ways than one, but I am BACK bitches, and I'm ready to write again! Thank you for your patience.

The five minute carriage ride was strained, more so than the usual discomfort of their other moments if she were honest, because she knew that both had things on their minds regarding the other, but neither said them. She’d come close, only for him to look at her, the two catching each other’s gaze, and for the both to turn to look out opposite windows, or anywhere else for that matter.

Draco had consented to their spending the coming of the New Year together, his expression sheepish while doing so. Or, as sheepish as he could look as he tried to control it. Slytherins were good at schooling their features when the time called for it, but she'd caught him off guard enough that she saw his face color in the streetlamps, the man giving stuttered nods as he stammered his acquiescence.

Then he'd taken a steadying breath as he held his arm out to her, which she took with only a half second's hesitation, and he led her down to the livery where a two-thestral team stood in wait. He'd handed her up into the carriage, and then climbed in behind to sit opposite her. 

The two spent the trip trying not to look the other in the eye, which was later impossible to avoid as the carriage stopped before the school, the wizard handing her out of the carriage with well-practiced manners. When they both had their feet on the ground, he offered her his arm again, which she readily took, and he led her up the stairs of the grand entrance. 

The two came to a stop in the doorway as the carriage began its trip back to the livery, only then deciding to hold each other’s gaze, a foot of space between them. Hermione saw him move his mouth as if he tried to begin talking, multiple different times, but couldn't get the words out. When he started to look like he was drowning, she cut in. 

"I'm knackered,” she said, for the witch had noticed stress leave her body while they’d been eating, and that lack of tension had caused her to notice how tired she had become during the last two days of staying up late and waking early. “I’m going to go get some sleep. But will I be seeing you in the morning? For breakfast? In the kitchens?” She asked hopefully.

He seemed grateful for her breaking the silence, replying with a small smile, “Of course. What time are you thinking?”

She shrugged lightly, saying, “Eight?”

His smile widened. “I’ll be there. Will we be studying afterward?”

“I will be, no doubt. You can join me if you’d like.”

“I would like that. Especially now that I have my own books.” He motioned to his bag slung over his shoulder.

“It’s a date then,” she said without thinking, and he seemed to attempt to hide his grin as she stammered something like, “No. I mean… Not like… You know what I mean. Not a-”

“Hermione,” he interrupted, “I know what you meant.”

She sighed heavily as she tried to cover her awkward feelings with as genuine a smile she could give him in her embarrassment, finally saying, "I'll see you in the morning, then."

He nodded in affirmation. "In the morning."

There was a beat or two of silence before Draco steeled his nerves, closed the gap between them, and rested his hand on her upper arm. He gave it a light, affectionate squeeze as he leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on her temple, then let go of her to turn and head for the stairs to the dungeon without another word, or without looking back.

Hermione couldn't help but smile after him, and was not ashamed when she did a tiny jig, more like an exaggerated wiggle of delight, before she turned in the opposite direction of him.

She headed up the stairs, singing, "If everything could ever feel this real forever." She did another small dance as she took a couple steps. "If anything could ever be this good again." She danced along the landing to the next flight up. "The only thing I ever ask of you, you've got to promise not to stop when I say when."

The witch flopped on her back onto her bed, giving the crimson canopy a smile as she thought back on the events of the night, and compared it to the previous encounters she had with the Slytherin whom she had come to fancy. He had once, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, made her cross beyond control. He'd caused her to feel like less than a human, something she was sure he'd do for the rest of their lives, only for him to surprise her by doing the exact opposite.

That night, as they sat talking over dinner, and as they walked arm in arm through the falling snow and icy cobbles of Hogsmeade, she had felt more than human, more human than she'd felt in so long, and all because of him. 

It was strange to her how she'd transitioned from being in a self-loathing depression where she’d considered herself soulless, to looking forward to the days to come, especially the next one. She and Draco would spend the day, night, and the New Year together, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep from the anticipation. She was tired, no doubt, but she wondered if she should have gone to the library to study instead; if she should have perhaps done so and invited Draco to join her. 

She shrugged it off, for there was nothing she could do about it now besides something that could potentially come off as desperate, and instead decided to go to her record player. After putting the Smashing Pumpkin album back, she grabbed Green Day's Insomnia album, and lay on her bed as she attempted to study. Thoughts of a certain blonde kept causing her to lose her spot in her book.

Eventually she relaxed enough to lie under the covers, book in hand.

Draco.

One her favorite song began to play, and she sang along, "I'm having trouble trying to sleep."

Draco smiling.

She lay her head back on her pillow. "I'm counting sheep but running out."

Draco laughing.

Her feet moved, one and then the other, in time with the beat. "As time ticks by, and still I try. No rest for crosstops in my mind. On my own, here we go."

Draco’s touch.

Her eyes closed, her book fell onto her chest, and she found herself too tired to sing the next verse. 

Draco’s lips.

And before the song ended, she was asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this time to thank my reviewers and followers. I'd also like to thank you all for concern and well wishes. I appreciate it a lot.

The last day of 1998 brought far more snow and zero sunshine, but you couldn't tell it was gloomy outside if you'd had the pleasure of witnessing Hermione Granger's trip from Gryffindor tower the kitchens. She practically skipped to her destination, with a pleasant, easy expression. 

She'd also done something she hadn't in a while, which was put her hair up into a ponytail, the long mass of curls falling down her back, exposing her face and neck to the cold, early morning air. She hardly noticed the chill, which disappeared when she entered the warm kitchen. 

Draco was not yet there, so she grabbed her plate and sat at her usual table. She pulled out the Charms booked she'd borrowed from the library and began to read as she ate her toast and eggs. When ten past eight came, Hermione heard the door to the kitchens open, and watched with bated breath as Draco strolled in. 

The witch had to clench her jaw to keep it from falling open. She felt like she was watching Kurt Cobain be reborn, but into money. 

Trousers as tight as his should have been illegal, for they showed off the length of his legs, the sports-hardened tightness of his backside, and, Merlin forbid, the unmistakable bulge in the front. It was as if he’d raided Robert Plant’s closet. They were a dark crimson, and despite being of a high quality they had small rips near the knees. They were held up with a black leather belt that matched the black of his loafers, which contrasted nicely with his grey socks. Said socks, shoes and trousers matched the color scheme on his flannel shirt. The long sleeves of the “oh-so grunge” top were rolled up to his elbows, putting on display the muscles and veins of his forearms, and it hung unbuttoned to expose a grey Weird Sisters t-shirt, which showed off the muscles of his chest.

All of this, combined with the smile he wore as he caught sight of her, took her breath, and she almost missed the chance to greet him when he said, “Good morning, Hermione.” Almost ten seconds passed, wherein he grabbed his plate and sat across from her, then gave her a strange look as he noticed the even stranger look she was giving him. “Are you alright?”

She mentally shook herself, saying quickly, “Yes. I’m brilliant. Good morning. Happy New Years Eve.”

His smile returned as he set his pack at his feet and began to eat. “How did you sleep?”

"Well," she answered as she spelled the kettle to pour herself another cup of tea and him a fresh one. "You?"

"Thank you. And… Uh…" he paused. "It took me quite a while to fall asleep. I only slept for about four hours. Hence my tardiness."

"Studying? Or..?"

"I was too anxious."

"What about?"

"About today, actually."

"Why?" Hermione drew her brows together as she made her own assumptions as to why he was anxious about that particular day. But she didn't want to be so vain. 

"I'm… I'm not exactly sure." He paused and took a bite of his food, avoiding eye contact as he chewed and swallowed. "I am still having a hard time believing this is real. And by "this" I mean your wanting to spend time with me. Sometimes I'm fine, but other times I feel like I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up at any moment, and everything will go back to normal. Or how it used to be."

Hermione nodded. "I could understand why you'd feel that way. But this is new for both of us, so don't think you're alone in feeling like you're in some strange dream."

"I plan to never go back to the way I was. Never. So you don't have to worry about waking up, because how I am now, and how I feel about you, is real, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at him, and he returned it, but it faltered as she asked, "How… how do you feel about me?"

Draco instantly drew a deep breath that lifted his chest as he colored some, and Hermione tried like hell to fight her own flush. The words sort of flew out of her mouth, the witch no longer able to hold them in. She'd done a stunning job of doing so the night before, during the carriage ride and while they'd been standing in the grand entrance. But she wanted to hear his exact, honest answer given that he'd willingly kissed her twice already. She wanted to know- to hear it from the thestral's mouth- that he fancied her in return.

There was near a half minute's silence from the blonde before he was able to manage, "I know that we just agreed to be friends, but… I know you've noticed that I have stronger feelings for you than that. I do. I do have stronger feelings than that."

"I was thinking it was like that," she said sheepishly, inwardly crowing at finally knowing, without a doubt, that he felt the same way about her that she did for him. "Unless you make it a habit of kissing your friends."

He really blushed this time, but said with a playful smirk, "Only Blaise. And on one occasion, Theo."

Hermione's jaw really dropped this time, only for her to grin once Draco laughed at her expression. She marveled again at the sound of Draco Malfoy's genuine laughter, and how it rang in her ears like angel's song. She decided she adored the sound, and the look on his face, for she was positive she'd never seen him look so happy and pleasant and beautiful before.

When he sobered, he looked nervous as he said, "I'm sorry if my doing so made things even more awkward for you."

"No! No," she answered quickly, then explained, "No. It's not like that at all. I… I'll admit that, as friends… or, or whatever we are, I didn't mind it."

"Or whatever we are?" He asked, his playful smirk in place.

"Or whatever we are," she replied with a smirk of her own. 

"Well, then," he said as he lifted his teacup to her. "Here is to whatever we are."

She smiled and nodded, and lifted her own teacup to clink against his.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I fuckin' hate writing dialogue. It took a few days for me to get it right. I hope it feels natural to you guys.

After spending the rest of breakfast talking about anything but what was going on between them, the two grabbed their bags and headed for the library. It was as the portrait closed behind them that Hermione asked, "So you're into the Weird Sisters?"

"I am. Are you?" He asked. 

"No. Not really," she answered. "The only time I really listened to them was the Yule Ball. They were alright, but it didn't click with me."

"Ah. The Yule Ball." Draco looked like he was some place far away for a moment, then went on. "I'll remember that night forever. It was the first time I saw the Sisters live, and it was also the first time I saw you switch up your look. Today is the second time." He pointed to her ponytail.

She smiled and shrugged. "I felt like doing something different today. For the Yule Ball, I felt like doing something really different. That was… an interesting night."

"I'm sure. How was it? Dating Krum?" He sounded genuinely interested, so she figured she'd indulge him.

"Meh… He didn't talk very much. And when he did, it was about either quidditch or the tournament."

"I can't say I'm surprised. That's all he and I ever talked about with me, which I never minded. That, and…" he paused, and she looked over at him. "And we talked about you."

"Hm… I'm sure you didn't have anything too pleasant to say about me then."

"You are correct. As usual. It only happened a couple of times before he decided I was not the one to be having that conversation with. Any Slytherin, really. And that was when he decided we were all pretty much lost causes."

"I could believe it. He didn't believe in any anti-Muggle or anti-Muggleborn hogwash. He had that going for him at least… That and muscles, but muscles and tolerance don't make up for one's lack of conversational topics. Also, the bloke once claimed that he “didn’t like music that much”, which is a deal-breaker if I ever heard one. Who in the bloody hell says that? I'd die without music."

"It means that much to you, eh?"

"It does!" She said, looking to him as she reached the landing that would take them to the library. "It's one of the only things that makes sense anymore."

"I was going to say that you didn't seem like yourself when I arrived,” he said, his voice lower than last he spoke, as if he was second guessing even saying it.

Hermione almost froze in her tracks at him mentioning exactly what she knew he'd notice, but she’d figured he wouldn't ever say anything at all. For a moment, she thought he'd ignore that she'd reached what she considered her all-time low. But she also supposed she'd walked into it.

"I… I haven't been feeling myself," she admitted.

"If it's any consolation, the war changed us all, Hermione." Draco said as he held the door to the library open for her.

"I appreciate that, but it really isn't," she said, leading the way to what some may consider "their" corner. "A consolation, that is."

"Look,” he said, stopping her by taking her hand and turning her to face him. He wore the most sincere expression as he said, “It’s not just you. None of us are alright. Not a single one of us."

For some reason or another, this conversation wasn't sitting well with the Gryffindor, so she said, "I don't want to talk about this, Draco. I don't. Not today at least."

"Eventually you will have to. Even if it’s uncomfortable, or painful.” Hermione frowned at him, though didn’t move to say that what he was claiming was wrong. “But keep in mind that any day, any day you wish, I will listen when you're ready.” 

She had to smile at him for this, because he’d been the only person to ever offer this to her. Everyone else was so damaged that they didn’t want to talk about it themselves. Her parents, though they’d been gone, hadn’t wanted to broach the subject with her either. They could tell that she was off, and she had to consider the possibility that they’d either wanted her to come to them herself, or that they thought it was more damaging to bring it up. Either way, it hadn’t happened, and no one besides Draco Malfoy had offered her solace in this way. 

“But,” he added, squeezing her hand affectionately. “I understand that you don't want to. I don't like to, either. That's why I spent the past few months in Muggle London instead of the manor. So I could avoid as many memories as possible.”

She gave him a look as she said, "So that explains the clothes."

"And the earring," he added, pointing to it with a smile. She looked him up and down, and he asked, "You like it, don't you?"

Her smile grew as she nodded. “I do. It fits you somehow.”

“Kind of like these trousers, huh?” He asked, letting go of her hand while turning about, as if he wanted to torture her. “They’re nearly painted on, if we’re talking about things that fit. But they make my arse look fantastic.”

The witch tried like hell to keep the grin and bright pink flush spreading on her face from his sight. When that failed, she rolled her eyes and turned away from him, continuing on her journey as she said over her shoulder, “They’re very agreeable.”

“Aw! Only agreeable?” he asked, moving to catch up with her, which only took a couple of steps, considering his long as hell legs. “I think that you think they’re more than agreeable.”

She looked up to his grinning face, seeing that the expression gave away just how much of a go he was having at her, and she said, “Can we put this conversation on the back burner as well?”

“Sure,” he consented, still smiling. “As long as you admit you’re only doing so because you’re blushing.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, the laugh in her voice unavoidable. 

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “I knew it!”


	29. Chapter 29

He'd told her he needed to go somewhere, and that he'd meet her back in their corner of the library at six, which meant that he needed her to go back to her dorm, or anywhere but the library.

"Why?" she'd asked, incredulous and beyond confused. They'd just been having a great conversation about which deadly animal Hagrid would be choosing for their Care of Magical Creatures class. And since it was an advanced course, no guess was too ludicrous.

"Just… trust me, ok?" he'd said, a smile on his face.

There was a beat of silence before she nodded her acquiescence, and he gave her a relieved and excited grin before he planted a quick peck on her cheek and left their corner with his pack on his shoulder. Hermione had stared after him until he was out of sight, then sighed as she grabbed her own pack and left for her dorm room. She wondered about his intentions as she walked up the stairs, through the Fat Lady's portrait, and to her room, somewhere along the way coming to the conclusion that Draco was planning something special for their evening together.

She set her pack on her bed as she looked at the clock. It read half past two, and the witch bit her lip as she looked to her closet. In a second flat she threw open the double doors and started tearing through the contents.

The non-superficial witch didn't have much as far as dress clothes went. She had plenty of jeans and band t-shirts and jumpers, but she eventually had to admit that blue jeans and a Radiohead t-shirt wouldn't work for the night. And a jumper just didn't sit well with her as an option for a New Year's Eve date.

"Not that this is a date," she told herself, though she didn't believe her words for a second.

Her gold-brown eyes then darted to the back of her closet, where three dresses hung. One was from the Yule Ball, the blue, flowing material, the witch decided, would be too much for the evening. Another was long and black with wrist-length sleeves. She wished to never wear it again, because she'd worn it enough times after the war to last a witch a lifetime. It was her funeral dress… She had packed the entire contents of her closet without giving it much thought. Her mind had been consumed with the prospects of returning to the scene where all of her troubles had begun.

The last was a sundress her mother had gotten for her when they'd arrived back in London, leaving Australia's cold winter for England's warm summer. The Granger matriarch had thought it looked lovely on her daughter, the garment a light grey and covered with mauve lilies. There were no straps or sleeves of any kind, and though Hermione didn't like how much skin in showed, it made up for it by being a mid-calf length. Her mom had had the foresight in knowing Hermione may not have enjoyed the lack of sleeves by buying a grey cardigan to go over it, just in case.

The brunette drew a deep breath as she looked at the dress, and held out her hand as she Summoned one of the hundreds of books on her shelf. This was one of the many advantages of being the only female who came back to Hogwarts for eighth year. This made her the sole inhabitant of her dorm room, which meant she could display her many books and records, the sight of which brought her joy and peace.

The title of the book that landed in her hand was "Henrietta Harrowbrooth's Alteration Spells for the Fashion Minded". Ginny had bought it for herself, but had quickly given it to Hermione. The younger Weasley witch hadn't gotten her mother's knack for household charms, and had asked Hermione for help in altering a dress for she and Harry's first date after the war, before he'd left for training. Hermione had proved immediately proficient at the spells within the book, and had changed Ginny's old dress to one more suiting her taste.

It was with this success in mind that Hermione turned to the dress her mother had given her, pushed aside the hangers of the other clothes so that she had space to work, and started flipping through the pages with her wand in hand.

*

She was nervous. But who would blame her? It was five minutes to six, and she was on her way down to the library for her New Year's date with Draco.

The last date she'd been on had been with Ron, and that hadn't gone well. By the end of it, the two had decided that a long distance relationship wouldn't work for them. Ron was so, so, so very angry, and was dead set on finding every living Death Eater and bringing them to justice. It was the only thing he thought about. She couldn't really blame him. If she had lost a brother… Well. She didn't know what she would do. To add to all of that, she was planning on leaving for Australia, and she had had no idea how long it would take her to find her parents. Weeks? Months? A year? Would she ever find them?

It had been such uncertain times, and both had decided- she with logic, he in anger- that their relationship wouldn't work then. And now, it was looking like it wouldn't work for some time, if ever.

Hermione's flats, the funeral flats she'd changed from black to red, tapped loudly as she walked through the dark and silent library. From the very back of the giant room came the glow of the fireplace, and it was in anticipation and uncertainty that she moved towards it.

She walked around the last bookshelf to their corner, expecting the house pride chairs and oval coffee table, but was surprised to find they'd been moved and transfigured. The four chairs were gone, and in their place was a large grey sectional couch that sat before the fireplace. Between it and the flames was the coffee table, which had been made taller and longer so it could hold a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and two flutes, a bottle of whiskey with two lowballs, and what Hermione assumed was their dinner.

And, standing at the hearth was Draco.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a shorty, I know. But I've already written the next chapter, which is a bit longer than usual. It all evens out. I'll be posting it either tonight or tomorrow. Thank you all for the reviews from the last chapter. I love the continued support! Thank you, thank you!

Draco turned from the fire to her at the sound of her advance with a dashing smile, which faltered when he saw her. His jaw dropped as he appraised her, eyes traveling from her head to her feet and back again, and she pursed her lips to hide a pleased smile. She fidgeted with the bottom button of her now black cardigan as he stepped from the fireplace to stand before her, and she had to force herself to stop her nervous twitch as he drew nearer.

He looked her up and down again and said, "Wow… Hermione. I didn't expect… I mean. You look absolutely gorgeous. Not that you don't look gorgeous always. That dress looks… Wow."

"Thank you," she said, the witch coloring at his obvious approval. She bit her lip again. 

"Who knew green was your color?" He asked, motioning to her dress.

"I suppose it is," Hermione said as she looked down at the dress she'd charmed a dark emerald green. She'd also shortened it to just above the knee, using the extra fabric to create half-sleeves while keeping the low swoop of the neckline. 

She wasn't sure why she chose green. It just seemed right once she'd tried it.

At this time she looked him up and down, and was able to breathe a sigh of relief knowing that she hadn't overdressed. She also had to note they'd accidentally dressed to match. 

His chin-length hair was pushed behind his ears, showing off the silver ring in his ear. He wore an all black blazer, one much nicer than his grey one, and under it he wore an emerald green button-down oxford with the top two buttons undone. One of his hands were in a pocket of his black dress slacks that weren't as tight as the red jeans he'd been wearing earlier, and he wore dark green snakeskin dress shoes.

"You're looking pretty smart yourself, Mr. Malfoy. I'm glad I didn't underdress," she said, more than pleased by the way he looked. She supposed she'd always approved of the way he dressed, even back in the days he'd been unbearable. His attitude then had just been so deplorable, it hadn't mattered how he looked.

"I'm happy to see that I didn't overdress. It's something I've been guilty of in the past." Hermione smiled at this, and he added, "I'm even happier you asked me to spend the New Year with you, and I wanted to thank you with this." He motioned to the table behind him, locking her arm in his as he led her to the couch. She shuddered at the contact, and tried to concentrate on what he was going to show her, rather than the strength of his arm.

"You wanted to thank me with a date?" She asked boldly.

He paused for a moment, then admitted, "Yes. Yes I do."

Hermione smiled at him, and he returned an even brighter one, as if relieved, and he used his hold on her arm to pull her down onto the couch with him. He reached over to the table and lifted the covers off the two large plates of food.

"I brought us steaks with champ and mushy peas. There are also buns, some applesauce, and I don't know if you feel like having a drink, but I brought my favorite scotch made here in Scotland. There's also champagne to ring in the new year. And, just so you know, I told the elves not to worry about our dinner. I Apparated to England for our fare. I got it from one of my favorite restaurants in Brixton."

Hermione gave him a look, absolutely thrilled by his thorough thoughtfulness, asking, "Are you serious?"

"As the plague," he answered her, eyeing her for her reaction.

Hermione turned to their dinner and bit her lip. It looked amazing, and she wanted to tuck in immediately, but she decided to turn back to him and wrap her arms around him in a brief hug, saying, "Thank you, Draco. This all looks fantastic."

"I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," she said. 

He gave her a small smile, his eyes lingering on her face for a few seconds before he turned back to their dinner. He conjured two glasses and filled them with water, as well as cloth napkins and cutlery. 

"Can I interest you in something else to drink?" He offered. "Butterbeer? Pumpkin juice? Some scotch?" 

Herniome thought on her options for a second before saying, "I'll take some scotch. Two fingers."

"Neat?" He asked.

"Most definitely," she answered.

He poured them both a drink, and passed her one. He held his glass up and out to her, saying, "To the beginning of a new year."

"Cheers," she answered with a smile, raising her glass to his. They both drank, and Hermione had to admit that the scotch was exceptional. She wasn't an expert when it came to alcohol, not by far, but she knew that he'd spoiled her with his selection. "That's really good!" 

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a pleased smile. "Alright. Tuck in. I'd like to hear your opinion on the food."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

"I'm going to have to agree with Nott and Zabini on this one," Hermione said honestly, raising her brow at the blonde.

It was ten o'clock, and the two had spent the past hours eating and drinking and talking about everything that came to their minds. A part of it had been about magical theory, another part music, and they were now talking about London and all of its many possibilities. Especially now that Draco was embracing Muggle culture.

The Slytherin faked a gasp of offense, placing a hand to his chest while saying, "Et tu, Brute?"

Hermione laughed at this, for she should have figured he'd like both Shakespeare and Caesar, and took a sip of her scotch before saying, "What? I really don't think it suits you."

"It's a motorcycle, Hermione. It's not as if I'm running off to the Congo to live on a boat or something."

"Now that I can see."

"Lies."

She laughed at him and nodded. "Yes. I'm lying. But motorcycles in traffic are extremely dangerous, Draco… I guess you could make it fly."

"Cautioning me against danger? You?" She smirked at him over her glass, and he returned it. "A flying motorcycle you say? Not unlike that flying car the Weasleys had?" He asked, seeming very interested as he sat back into the couch and sipped his scotch. Hermione shrugged, not caring to comment and incriminate, even after all of these years. "A flying motorcycle is an idea I can stand behind."

"Sirius Black had one," she stated matter of factly. 

"You don't say?" Draco piqued at this information.

"Yes. He gave it to Hagrid, who I assume still has it." She didn't want to dampen the mood by mentioning how and why Hagrid came to possess the motorcycle, so she took another sip of her drink instead.

Draco sat on this information for a while, then said, "Now I have to have one."

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled, then said, "Well don't expect me to ever get on that death trap."

"Why not? I know you don't ride brooms, but you ride dragons. Comparatively, a motorcycle isn't nearly as dangerous."

"You have a point," she agreed. "But I did that in an attempt to fight Voldemort. Not for fun."

He nodded, as if accepting her answer, then asked, "So you wouldn't go for just one ride with me?"

She laughed, and shook her head at his persistence. Then she asked, "Do you even know how to drive one?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm a quick study, Granger, or have you forgotten."

"Oh. I have not forgotten, Malfoy." She really hadn't. He'd excelled at all of his studies, but she wasn't sure she was ready to ride on the back of his motorcycle anytime in the near future. 

The future…

They were talking of a future where their relationship, whether as friends or more, or whatever they were, still existed. The idea made her giddy, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the ever-quickening beating of her heart.

"So what about you?" He inquired. "Do you have any interesting plans post graduation? Other than your Charms mastery?"

Hermione sighed heavily, and she almost didn't say it. But she looked to his face, noted his genuine interest, and decided to go for it.

"I… I kind of have one. But you can't laugh at it."

"I would never," he said, and she smiled at the sincerity in his voice. 

"However slightly, I did kind of mock your dream."

"Yes. And in apology, you will tell me yours."

"Oh, alright," she said. Taking one large drink from her glass, she began. "Well. After everything was said and done, the Ministry gave Harry, Ron and I rather large rewards for our "heroism"." She put this word in quotations, because Hermione had never considered what they'd done heroic. Well, Harry had been heroic, no doubt, and Ron had had his moments, but she didn't think of herself as such. She'd done what she'd needed to do. That was all.

"Oh, come off it," Draco interrupted at her air quotes. "Don't sell yourself short like that."

"Do you want to hear my plan or not?" She asked. He lifted his brow at her and gave her a small frown, as if to say "this conversation has been added to the back burner with the others", but was otherwise quiet.

She went on.

"The money I received was enough for me to help my parents get their lives back, to buy every record I've ever wanted, and put the rest in a Gringotts vault so that I can… so that I can buy a bit of land in the woods somewhere, build a cottage, and live there. Away from all of the hustle and bustle of London. To live a life where I'm not the war hero Hermione Granger. Where I can have a garden, and let my cat roam free, and… I can hide away from all of the shite that I no longer want to face."

Hermione hadn't wanted to go so far into her dream. She'd meant to stop at "cottage", but she'd kept going. She would never know if it was the whiskey, or how comfortable she'd become around the man who sat beside her, or if it was both, but she'd told him. She had finally told another human being that she wanted to hide. 

She turned from him, back to the bottle on the table for another pour, because she didn't want to see his reaction, and she didn't want him to see the look on her face; the darkness that had begun to make a home in her eyes where one should simply see her soul.

"Hermione," he said softly, but she didn't turn to him. "Hey," he tried again, this time placing his hand on her shoulder. "I don't think that doing a little hiding out is that bad of an idea. I've been doing some of my own, and, to be honest, it's been some of the best days of my life." She turned back to him, and she relaxed at the caring expression on his face. "I've learned more about myself during these past few months while living in Muggle London than any other before them. I think you should do it. You should buy that land, and you should build that cottage, and you should spend the time you need to and find the peace you deserve."

A small smile crept across her face as she felt the tension in her shoulders ease, asking, "You think so?"

"Definitely. That sounds like one of the best ideas you've ever had, and I must point out that I've witnessed you have many."

With her smile still in place, and the self-loathing feelings disappearing quicker than a snitch in a thunderstorm, she said, "I expect you to ride your motorcycle over for a scotch, then, once the cottage is finished." She wiggled her glass to him. 

"I will absolutely fly it over as soon as I receive the invitation," he said, grinning at her.

She sat back into the couch then, the two of them facing and smiling at each other. And, as times before, she couldn't tell you who leaned in first- not that she much cared- only knowing that their lips finally met in a kiss.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be straight up honest, my dudes. I just had my second child. Even with my new IUD, sex is basically at the bottom of my list of things to do. But I was once pretty good at writing smut, so I hope these smutty/lemony chaps don't disappoint.

Hermione wanted to feel this way forever.

The speedy beating of her heart. The feeling of blood rushing to every point in her body. The buzzing, fuzzy feeling in her brain that blocked out every feeling besides the good ones. It was like danger, but better. An adrenaline rush that couldn't be touched by any of her other experiences. 

Kissing Draco, his hands cradling her face while doing so, was more exhilarating than riding a dragon, or facing a three-headed dog, or trekking through the blinding white of a blizzard. It was even better, because she never knew she could feel the way she did in that moment.

She put her arms around his neck, drawing herself chest to chest with him, and he moved his hands from her face to wrap his arms around her middle. He held her to him, his heart pounding alongside her own, and the witch noting the perfect feeling of his closeness. This, paired with the softness of his lips, caused the witch to moan, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

His tongue slid against her own, gliding along her lips, sending shivers down her arms and spine, and in no time flat the witch moved into his lap to ensure the kiss continued. 

Lips found their way to chins and necks. Hands gripped hair, clothes, arms, and hips. Draco's own hands found their way to the roundness of Hermione's arse, pulling her closer to him, the witch grinding down onto him, only to find a stiffness growing where they met. Here he moaned loudly into her mouth, and he pulled away from her quickly. Hermione looked at him in confusion.

"We… we should probably stop, Hermione," he said, breathless.

She took a few quick breaths of her own, studying his face, gauging him by looking into his eyes where his pupils were blown wide with lust.

"Is this like the other night?" She asked. "When you found me in the blizzard? Where you didn't kiss me because I'd been drinking?" She hadn't confirmed this with him, but she knew she'd hit it on the head by the guilt that hit his face at her questions.

"Yes," he said. "I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you. Nor do I want you to regret anything, even a kiss, tomorrow."

"Is that your only aversion?" She asked. "Your fear of my regretting you?" 

"Yes," he answered, eyes intense as he stared at her. It was if her words were more than just their surface meaning. And maybe she meant it like that, meant that she wouldn't regret him, because she knew that, just like her, there were ghosts in his past that made him feel less than what he was.

"Good," she said, putting a hand to his cheek, looking him deep in the eyes as she stated, promised, "Because I won't."

She kissed him again, with purpose, to show him that despite the whiskey on their lips, she did not regret what they were doing. She did not regret him, and she would not. Draco Malfoy felt so right to her, she couldn't imagine ever regretting their kissing, or their going further than that.

His hands went into her hair instantly, using it to hold her to him as he adjusted them to where she lay on her back on the soft cushions of the couch, he atop her, his own legs between hers. Once again she could feel the bulge in his pants, though even more so now, and she shivered at the thought of what that meant. 

She wanted him, and he wanted her, and that thrilled her. 

As they continued to kiss, Hermione began to push his blazer from his shoulders, and with her help he was able to discard it. Then they took care of her cardigan, throwing it somewhere on the long couch next to his blazer, and he moved his kisses, sucking and licking, across her chin and down her neck, to her collarbone where he bit her lightly, down to her chest and the mounds of the top of her breasts. He paid this part extra attention, the sensations shooting straight to her core. She put her hands into his mussed hair, holding him there while she ground herself against him.

His hand came up from where it had been resting on her hip, and he pulled down the top of her dress, to just below her newly exposed breasts. She was happy she hadn't worn a bra, and was grateful for the fire and the whiskey, for they kept her warm in the cool air of the library. His mouth, which began to switch from one nipple and then the other, was an extra level of warmth that pulled loud moans from her throat and mouth, and laved her body in goosebumps. He nipped and tongued the erect buds, eliciting more noises from her, and when he added teeth she shuddered, harder than before, in his arms.

Her reaction was an indication that she enjoyed his attention to detail, that she enjoyed his work, so he trailed his hand down her body and let it slip up her dress, bunching the green fabric as he pressed his thumb against her clit through her knickers. 

She gasped loudly, moaning, "Draco."

Small, tight, circular motions, in a steady rhythm, was the pattern Draco drew on her sensitive bud, simple motions engorging the flesh under the pressure, the witch trembling harder and harder, moaning louder and louder, the longer he continued to worship her breasts and clit. 

All too soon removed his hand and mouth, but only to pull her knickers down her legs and throw them to the floor. He replaced his mouth on her chest, and moved his fingers to the slick wetness just below where his thumb had been. Using what he found there to coat two of his fingers, he slipped them into her to the first knuckles, the sensation teasing her in its shallowness. 

Hermione wiggled her hips, and made a whining noise that she meant to sound both objecting and pleading. 

It worked, for Draco took his lips from her hardened nipples and moved his body down the couch to where he lay between her legs, setting his mouth, this time, to her hardened clit.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter and an epilogue left. Thank you all for taking this journey with me!

Hermione moaned so loudly it echoed off the walls, bouncing back and rushing past her eardrums. It was all she could hear. But she didn't care how she sounded, and from Draco's continued, if not more rigorous, efforts, he didn't mind either. And she was grateful for that, because she had never had anyone go down on her before, and it felt so bloody amazing that she wasn't surprised she sounded the way she did. It had been something she'd been curious about, but had never had the nerve to ask anyone to try.

She was only able to think on this for a millisecond before Draco took her clit into his mouth and sucked while flicking his tongue. This, along with his fingers rubbing against the most sensitive spot within her, hit the witch with something she could only describe as a brick wall of pleasure. It was so sudden, intense, and hard, her back arched off the couch, her hands desperately grabbed his hair, and she let out the loudest cry the library had possibly ever heard.

It was the strongest orgasm she had ever had, and it left her unable to inhale as the waves wracked her again and again, and when she was finally able to inhale, she did so with a loud, "Oh, my gods!"

She saw colors behind her tightly closed eyelids, and when she opened them, her vision danced as she looked down to where Draco sat on his knees between her legs, face flushed and breathing fast. It took her a few seconds for her to grab her bearings. Her mind attempted to process what had happened. It didn't get too, far, however, because her eyes had dropped down to the still-present bulge in his pants, and a sudden sense of action took her.

Using her palms to sit herself up, she then moved them to his hard chest to push him back proper on the settee. Maneuvering herself on shaking legs, she once again sat on his lap, and claimed his lips. She could taste herself on him, finding it more sensual than she'd ever thought she would. Her hands moved down between them to undo his belt, making quick work of it, the woman eager to repay the favor he'd been so willing to bestow on her.

Slipping from his lap whilst pulling his belt from its loops, her knees landed on the carpet between his feet, and the witch gave the blonde his own trademark smirk. He bit his lip, looking nervous and excited all at once as she tossed the belt on the cushion beside him and moved her hands to undo his trousers. With him lifting his hips, she moved both his trousers and pants down his thighs, over his knees, and let them pool at his feet. 

It was her turn to bite her lip as her eyes moved up to what eagerly awaited her. His cock stood at full attention, hard, veined, and with a purple head that had a bead of pre-cum that glistened in the firelight. She reached up to touch the droplet with her fingertip, spreading it along the ridge of the head. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, and she smiled at this before she gripped his length, admiring his thick girth and length.

Hermione licked her lips as she leaned forward to take him in her mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, tongue taking in the taste of him. Draco groaned deeply in his throat, his hips jerking up enough to push himself further into her mouth. 

Working her tongue she wet him, taking more and more of him into her mouth until he hit her throat. She began to bob her head up and down in an even rhythm. At some point he lost his hands in her hair, holding her to him as he began to assist her by moving his hips. He groaned uncontrollably, gritting her name out when she began to use her hand in time with her mouth, going faster and faster as his pleasure noises grew.

She took this time to experiment with him, tickling the base of him with quick flicks, and the long drags of her tongue. She gripped him tightly at the base, holding him skyward, as she pulled her mouth off of him to suck at the vein that ran down the underside. 

At one point, she reached up with her other hand to cup his sack lightly, careful not to hurt him, and that was when he stilled her head with a tight hold on her hair, saying quickly, "Hermione. Stop."

She pulled away from him, looking at him quizzically, asking, "What? What is it?"

Had she been doing it wrong? She'd only done this once before, for not nearly as long. Everything she tried had been learned mainly from books, as was most things she knew. Putting into practice what she'd read rarely failed her. Had she actually hurt him, even with her ginger touch?

She studied his face, seeing he looked close to the edge. His face was flushed a vibrant pink she'd never seen him wearing before; his disheveled hair fell into eyes that seemed to barely see her through his pleasure. "If you keep going, I'm going to…" He trailed off, like he was embarrassed to say it.

Hermione internally sighed in relief, though she still asked, "What's wrong with that?" He'd gotten her off with his mouth, and it had been life-changing. It had made her determined to do the same for him.

"It would mean," he said, "that I couldn't do this."

In no time at all, Draco had them both stripped of all clothing. He brought her up to her feet to tug her dress down where it sat on her waist to the floor, and pulled her down onto the couch. He practically tore his shirt off as he kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants.In the mix of excitement and chilly air, her hairs stood on end, and remained that way as he climbed atop her, pushing her back into the plush cushions of the settee. 

Looking into her eyes again, as if he were asking, "Are you ready?"

As an answer, she bit her lip and she gave a terse nod.

Her breath hitched as he entered her, agonizingly slow. His grey gaze bore into hers as he moved, inching into her to the hilt with ease, for she was wet beyond belief after being on her knees for him. She couldn't help but moan at the memory mixing with the sensation of the feeling of him filling her.

He himself moaned, her name if she wasn't mistaken, before he kissed her again.


	34. Chapter 34

Draco’s hands on her face held her lips to his as he began to move in and out of her, just as painfully slow as when he entered her. It was a strange sensation, to love and hate something as much as she did his pace. Where it felt like she could already come at the languid strokes of his cock gently teasing every spot within her, she also wanted him to hit those places faster and harder. She wanted to know what it would feel like for Draco to ravish her while she lay beneath him, just like he’d done with his mouth.

The Gryffindor was not usually one for patience, even though she’d found herself pretty good at it from time to time. She managed to keep it together, to not demand anything from him, which she found she didn't regret in the slightest. His attentive touch built her up, and dragged her pleasure upward in spite of herself.

The Slytherin sat up on his knees while continuing to move in and out, dragging his hands down from her face, down her neck, and to the still sensitive buds of her nipples, lightly pinching and tweaking them in time with his thrusts. She moaned even louder as she began to feel strong ripples of pleasure throughout her body. They were all landing in her center, causing her to clench her walls even tighter around him, and the more she did so, the faster he moved.

She swore more then than any other time in her life, because sex had never felt so good or right before. He knew what to do to push her sexual buttons; teasing her nipples, biting her neck; held her down, still, with his hands on her hips; used his thumb to apply pressure to her clit, which nearly undid her multiple times over. Once he even grabbed her by the nape of her neck, lifting her head so that they could look each other in the eyes as he fucked her, the witch unable to look away from his molten stare until he grabbed her up in his arms to set her against the high back of the couch. He started shagging her into it so hard she couldn't even see straight. She was biting her lip so hard she was afraid she'd taste blood soon, and her nails were sunk into his back, threatening to draw blood of their own, right above where her legs were locked around his hips. 

She was begging for him not to stop. It was gibberish to her in the vacuum of pleasure. All she knew was that she was saying "please", "yes", and "Draco". Especially "Draco".

“Merlin, Hermione,” he gasped into her ear. He was pounding into now, pushing her further up into the cushions at a speed that had her crying out at every thrust. “I’m coming.”

“Yes!” she moaned, the words shooting even more pleasure through her body at the thought of him reaching his own climax. “Come, Draco. Come for me.” 

The sound of his flesh smacking into hers became faster, more frantic, and wetter as he spilled into her, and she found the sound so erotic that she came once more, squeezing down onto him as she did so.

They fell over onto the settee in a sweating, sticky heap, side by side, the pair breathing heavily as the world came back to them. They held each other close as the cool air settled on their skin, Draco running his hand over her hair, and Hermione leaving small kisses on his chest.

*

Hermione snuggled close into the warm body beside her, still asleep enough that it wasn't odd that she wasn't sleeping alone. It was comforting, the embrace of the arm around her loving. When she began to come to, she cracked one eye open long enough to see that she had spent the night in the arms of Draco Malfoy.

Closing her eye, she allowed a smile to take over her face as she cuddled closer into him, pulling the blazer he'd transformed into a blanket up over her shoulder before placing her hand on his chest, rubbing the muscles there appreciatively. Memories of their night together and the soreness between her legs caused her smile to stay put, even when she was seconds from falling back to sleep. But impending slumber was interrupted by Draco groaning deeply and shifting, the man bringing his hand up to grab the one on his chest and squeeze it.

"Good morning," he said in a voice gruff with sleep.

"Good morning," she answered, opening her eyes slower this time.

She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her, and she grinned as she pulled herself up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, readily, turning into her and wrapping both of his arms around her. She did the same to him the best she could, holding him to her so tightly; as if neither ever wanted to let go.

The kiss ended too soon in Hermione's opinion, not even caring that she could hardly breathe, and despite feeling him grow hard against her stomach, he said, "I'm famished."

"Should we get breakfast, then?" She asked. She was hungry too, for many things, but she figured she should eat first for the sake of having the energy to shag him endlessly later.

"Yes. And then… studying?" He offered. 

"Oh, no. No studying," she said. He looked at her quizzically, as if the sound of her denying a chance to study caused him worry. "I…" she paused, because she wasn't sure what his answer would be, but went on anyway. "I am the only eighth year female in Gryffindor. Which means I have my own dorm. We should go there after breakfast."

A slow smirk grew on his face, and he said, "Sounds brilliant." She smiled at him, relieved. He returned it, and pulled her in for another long kiss.


	35. Epilogue

“When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye. You're just like an angel. Your skin makes me cry.” Hermione sang, a book in hand. This song always had the ability to make her forget she was reading. "You float like a feather, in a beautiful world. I wish I was special. You're so fuckin' special.”

"I will never get used to this," Ginny said as she sat down at the table next to Hermione. The redhead began to put sandwiches and salad on her plate, the brunette smiling at her friend over her book.

"You don't need to. Just accept it," Hermione said as she glanced at her friend, humming as she set her eyes back to her book.

"I don't know if I can do that, either," the younger witch said with a shake of her head.

"Gin. How much more time do you need?"

"As much as it takes," Ginny answered. "Which may be a shite load of it. Maybe even the rest of it."

As if on cue, the two witches heard the rumbling of a motorcycle engine approach up the driveway, and Hermione’s face broke into a huge grin while Ginny rolled her eyes at her. For however romantic Ginny was with Harry, the idea of Draco still threw the red-head off. Harry had grown tolerant of the Slytherin alum, joining Ginny at the two-year-old cottage, which Hermione and Draco had shared for a year now, for dinner about once a month. The two men would speak amicably, and each time it became easier for Harry to visit. 

Ron, however… Well, Hermione didn’t think she’d speak to him for many years yet. He’d openly lost his top when the curly-haired witch told the two men of her relationship with Draco, and it had gotten so ugly it had made headlines. Hermione didn’t blame him, though. She knew he’d act that way, just as she knew that he would someday come around.

Hermione set her drink and book down on the table, then moved to the counter where a glass and a bottle of Draco’s preferred scotch sat in wait for him. She poured two finger’s worth, and went to the door, opening it as Draco made his way up the walkway in her direction, helmet under his arm. 

He grinned broadly as he saw her, and stepped onto the deck where he took the glass from her and planted a swift kiss on her lips, breaking away to say, “I will never grow tired of being greeted like this.” He gave her another kiss, a longer one, right on her smiling lips, then stepped back to drink from his glass. 

"Ginny's here," Hermione stated, somewhat like a warning.

Draco smirked, asking, "Shall we, then?" as he held out his arm out to her. Hermione nodded her head and took his arm, and he led her into their house.

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos, bookmark, and review. Thank you for reading.


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